Ichirizuka
by older woman
Summary: Kenshin from 1868 to 1878. I stick to realism. Starts 'angsty', but will gradually mellow some. The first chapter can stand alone as a oneshot.
1. Chapter 1 Kyoto

Disclaimer: Kenshin and all his familiar friends are owned by Sony, ADV, Shonen Jump, Watsuki Nobuhiro, Viz, and probably some others I don't know about.

I am just temporarily using them for my own mental exercise, with no profit whatsoever. Did I leave anything out?

Portions of the dialogue (battlefield scene, Arai's house scene) are taken from the English translations of Rurouni Kenshin manga vols. 10 and 21

After reading some other fanfics, when I wrote this, I put in a moderate amount of Japanese. Then I took some out. If you want more, or less, let me know.

Definitons of odd words: ryu—school or style nani?—what? huh? ryō—gold coin worth quite a bit

hanten—short, padded coat

daishō—set of two swords worn by samurai (long one is a katana; shorter one is a wakizashi)

tenchu—"heaven's justice"

hakama-shita—a ¾ length version of a kimono, worn with hakama

geta—wooden sandals

hashi—here, it means chopsticks

mekugi-nuki—little hammer-shaped tool used to insert and remove the pegs in the swords' handles

uchiko—finely ground powder used to clean and polish swords

koiguchi—the rim along the edge of the saya (scabbard)

genpukku—coming of age, somewhere between 12 and 15

mekugi—pegs in the sword handle that hold the blade in

tessen— blunt metal weapon shaped like a closed fan Wakarimasu-ka?—Do you (he,she,it,they,we,I) understand?

irasshaimase—standard greeting from store clerks So ka?—Is that so?

Oh, and the title of this, "Ichirizuka," means 'mileposts'.

**Ichirizuka**

by older woman

The opposition had pulled back, but occasional shots could still be heard as their rearguard fought small skirmishes while retreating. Now there were no opponents left for him. Men around him were cheering, "We did it, we won! It's the beginning of a new era!" He bowed his head in relief and murmured, "It's over…I can finally…" But even as he spoke he heard his name called: "Himura, over here! The fourth unit of the Shinsengumi is still fighting strong in Fushimi!" Turning, he looked behind him to where the commander beckoned and he began to run towards the group gathering. A movement to the side caught his eye and he slowed, preparing to defend himself. He let himself relax slightly, seeing that it was just another group of men farther on, also moving towards the larger group to reform for battle, only to stiffen at the sight of a young face watching him from their other side. The commander, seeing him halt abruptly, called, "What's the matter?", but Kenshin ignored him.

"Enishi!" The youth stared across the distance with palpable malice, and then vanished before Kenshin could move towards him. "E_nishi. _Pure white hair… Is that the form of your pain?... It's _not_ over…" It was with a sense of unreality that Kenshin moved on: had he really seen him? Why would he be here, where the patriots held the ground?

He had to pull his mind back to the fight as the captains inserted the men arriving from the Toba conflict into the ranks already moving south towards Fushimi and the Shinsengumi. As usual, the commander left it to him to decide for himself where he would be most effective. He ranged alongside of the main group as they moved at a quick jog to the aid of their troops already engaged in a heated struggle, steadily working his way towards the center front. As they closed with the enemy's flank, the initial, startling, impact was strengthened by the speed and fury of his own attack. Hiten Mitsurugi was not at its most effective in the close, confused confines of a battle, but over the years, he had acquired a variety of moves from other swordsmen-- both friend and foe—that worked very well, especially when combined with the speed and power of his own_ ryu. _As he slashed his way through the soldiers turning to face the new threat, the men behind him surged into the gap and the fighting spread into myriad individual conflicts…

Victory was declared by late afternoon. The January sun was nearing the horizon and the sun's red glow intensified the already bloody scene. A breeze was picking up. Kenshin shuddered as it whipped his clothing, sodden with sweat and blood. His hair was dank and matted from the exertions of the day. For warmth, he pulled Tomoe's shawl up over his head and wrapped it across the bottom of his face. He looked out over the chaos of the battlefield; it was fairly quiet now, most of the wounded had been removed and the dead would be dealt with tomorrow. Those few living still on the field were indistinct in the approaching dusk. _Is this,_ _**finally**, the end? Will I be able to stop killing?_ As the thought came to him, the world and time seemed to shift around him, and the bodies thick on the field seemed to him to be those he saw so often in dreams: _his_ dead, those he had killed over the years, taunting him: "You will _never _stop. You'll always be a murderer. And when you join us, we'll welcome you as you deserve!"

Kenshin raised a hand to his eyes and the movement seemed to settle the world back into place. With sudden hate, he plunged his bloody katana into the ground, determined to leave it on the field with its victims. He began to stride away, but as he moved, his steps slowed…and he finally stopped altogether, his head hanging. He could feel its silent reproach behind him. _A sword embodies the spirit of its samurai. If this sword has been one of slaughter, it has merely been the reflection of the will of the one wielding it. It has fulfilled its duty and is worthy of respect. I…cannot discard it in such a fashion. _Reluctantly, he turned back to where the sword shone crimson and black in the dying light. He wrenched his blade back out of the earth and straightened up in decision. This battle would turn the tide decisively in the Imperialists' favor; they could manage without him. He would leave, just as he had told Katsura-san so long ago. He wiped the blade and sheathed it, and strode away from the carnage, feeling part of the weight lift from his heart.

Kenshin spent the night in Fushimi, in the smallest inn he could find. He had nothing with him: what little he owned was back in Kyōto. The innkeeper, looking at the swords at his waist and the blood on his clothing, was afraid to offend and readily accepted his offer of work in return for a night's lodging. So after cleaning his daishō as best he could, bathing, and scrubbing his clothes relatively clean, he spread his clothes close to the brazier. Departing from his usual sleeping position propped against the wall, he crawled onto the futon and wrapped the cover around him as tightly as possible for warmth. As his body settled and his attention was no longer distracted by immediate action, the nightly battle between conscience and circumstances began, pulling at his emotions and making his stomach hurt. Eventually, exhaustion triumphed over psyche and he slept heavily for a couple hours before the dreams began, the blood-red of the freshly killed merging with the bone-white of past victims, all calling for their own _tenchu_, indignant that he had taken it upon himself to decide the gods' will.

He woke before dawn, still tired. Rising, he pulled on his kimono--still slightly damp, but warm—and tucked it up into his obi. His hakama was completely dry and felt good against his legs. There came the sound of footsteps in the corridor and he was ready for the cough outside his room. "I will come right away," he spoke before the owner could ask. The fur boots he had fought in were still a mess, but would have to do. At least the soles were clean and would not distress the landlord with dirty floors. His hanten and the shawl he left to dry a little longer. He would need their warmth on the way back to Kyōto.

When he got downstairs, the owner's wife put him to work bringing in wood and water and building up the fire as she prepared the morning's meal for their guests. As he washed the dishes after the meal, he could catch part of the couple's conversation through the thin wall…something about 'the samurai'…'manners'...'surprise.' He hoped they would not continue to speculate on him once he was gone. Let him be as anonymous as possible. Today he had used the cloth kept to clean his sword to cover the hair tied up on his head, both for warmth and to hide the tell-tale red.

By mid-morning, he had worked off his debt and was ready to return to Kyōto. The roadway was busy again. For several days it had been empty of ordinary people: no one wanted to be caught in the midst of two armies. In that amazing way it had, the news had spread overnight to the entire area. The road was busy and noisy with the chatter of travelers, but the fields to either side were lying fallow in the stillness of winter. _In_ _Chōshū, in Ōtsu, this is the time we kept close to the house and planned for spring. Repairing tools, working straw, and eking out our food… _But that thought led to the next: _This is when I killed my wife! _Wrenched by the heart-pain that followed, he willed his mind to turn to other things. Though the ground here below was frozen hard but clean of snow, the surrounding mountains were still shaggy and white with the snow on the trees. The sky was a clear blue, but it was colder than it had been. He walked quickly: it kept him warm and he had much to do before he could put Kyōto behind him.

He had decided to leave. It would do no good to simply stand back from any further conflicts as long as he daily passed through places that held the memory of death that he had dealt. Then, too, there were still a few men left that remembered him as the hitokiri. Many of the men he had known then had died in the Kinmon no Hen, or the Chōshū War on Four Sides, and the recruits since knew him only as a free-striking swordsman. But the memories burned whenever he encountered those few and saw the recognition in their eyes. And, ever since Iizuka, his description would occasionally resurface. Yes, to change his life—to begin again and make restitution—he would have to leave…

He was nearly to the city. Ahead he could see the top of Tōji's pagoda. He should be back at his lodging within the hour. If all went smoothly, perhaps he could leave early tomorrow.

When he reached the southern check station, it appeared to be empty. Other than that, once in the city, nothing seemed to have changed to show that a decisive battle had just been fought not too far away. But then, Kyōto had gone through so many changes in the last years that its citizens tried their best to live ordinary lives while power shifted like the seasons. For all they knew, the Bakufu might return in a matter of weeks, or months, and anyone who had rejoiced with the patriots would regret it. Safer not to show a preference.

The row house Kenshin lived in was close to the center of the city on a narrow side street. When he had returned from Ōtsu, he had wanted to be alone. And since the traitor Iizuka had betrayed him to the enemy, it was felt that both he and the rest of the Chōshū Loyalists would be safer if he lived at some distance. Before, he had received room, board, and a small amount of spending money for clothes and supplies in return for his services. Now he received a larger sum to cover rent, food, and expenses.

The cold in his room met him as he slid open the wooden door and entered, removing his boots. His room was on the north of the building, and without direct sun through the window, it was even colder than outside. Stooping, he lit the wood and charcoal in the brazier and sat cross-legged before it, his swords next to him, watching the flames and planning as the room warmed. Sitting so close, he was soon warm enough to uncover his head, unwind the shawl from around his neck, and remove his hanten. He folded them and set them next to the chest that was one of the three pieces of furniture in the room. He lifted the lid and pulled out the rest of his clothing and some extra cloth, looking it over carefully_. If I am to travel now, I will have to replace the hanten: too many tears from the fighting. This hakama, too, will have to be used for cloths. This kimono, my other hakama and kimono will do. And my hakama-shita is fine. So, perhaps, just a hanten and hakama is needed. And perhaps a better pair of geta…_

The room was small enough that it warmed quickly. He stacked the clothes in a neat pile by the chest and moved away to the shelf where he kept his food. Still some rice…a few sweet potatoes…some turnips. _I will need to buy more food._ _I do not think I will be able to leave so quickly as I had hoped. _He pulled two pots down from another shelf and scooped a handful of rice into one. He had to break a thin film of ice on his bucket of water before he poured some into the pots. He covered them both and set them on a grill over the brazier—that would take care of his next meal. In the time it took to cook, he would get ready for the evening's errand.

From inside the chest, he removed a jar of oil, a can of powder, some cloth and some paper and his mekugi-nuki and lined them up in a row. Rising, he went over and picked up his katana and wakizashi and returned to the spot by the chest. He knelt and sat on his heels. Placing the wakizashi in front of him, he slanted the katana across his lap. Holding the saya, he gently withdrew the blade. He tapped the koiguchi on his thigh to dump out any dust and set the saya to his left. He paused and regarded the blade he held in his right hand. _I remember when Katsura-san gifted me with the daishō on my fourteenth birthday to celebrate my coming of age…_

Everything was still new enough to Kenshin that he did not realize how unusual it was for him to be sitting alone with Katsura and Takasugi at dinner. After all, he had done it once before while still in Chōshū. That was when Katsura had asked him if he would kill for the cause. He had said that he was willing, but so far had done little more than learn the streets and become accustomed to being constantly surrounded with people. Perhaps tonight that would change…

As the meal came to an end, the lacquer trays were removed by a servant and with a brushing movement of his hand, Katsura indicated that he was done with idle chat.

"Himura-chan, today you are 14, correct?"

"Hai."

"This, then, will be your genpukku." He rose and crossed to the tokonoma where a set of swords rested in a stand below a calligraphy scroll. Removing them, he returned to his place and knelt down formally, facing Kenshin. Kenshin, his eyes wide, followed his example and shifted from sitting to kneeling.

"When you came to us, you had your skill, but no sword of your own. You were still a child. Today you become responsible for yourself and your actions. Now, I ask you again: are you willing to fight in our cause, and kill when it is deemed necessary? Are you willing to die?"

Feeling the weight of the occasion and the possible consequences of the commitment he was being asked to make now-- _as an adult--, _he sat silent for a moment. _This is why I left Shishou. This is how I can help those who cannot stand for themselves…Killing, dying-- I can do it if it will change things for the better. _He raised his head and met Katsura's eyes as Takasugi watched with interest from the side.

"Aa. I am willing to do these things."

At his words, Katsura held out the daishō. "Then you must have weapons to match your skill and the work you will be called upon to do. Please receive these as a gift from me." He held them out towards the young man who, in stunned amazement, bowed to the ground.

"Katsura-sensei, you are gracious to give such a gift to one so young and unworthy. I will do my best to bring honor to your trust." And raising up, he received the daishō with reverent hands.

Katsura smiled with pleasure at Kenshin's reaction and looked over at Takasugi, who nodded and spoke: "Now that you have a sword, you must be able to wear it anywhere and at anytime with no questions asked." He removed a scroll from his sleeve and handed it to Katsura, who in turn held it out towards Kenshin. "We have arranged for you to be given the rank of a lower-samurai in order that you may more efficiently aid us." Smiling more broadly, Katsura added, "You see? I have remembered our conversations on the way to Kyoto."

Kenshin bowed low once again, but it took him a moment to be able to express himself. "I have no words for my gratitude. You have given honor back to my family. May you be blessed for your kindness."

"Sit up, sit up. Look at the document…" As Kenshin did as he was told, Katsura continued, "Now you truly are _Himura_ Kenshin."

_So much joy that night…followed so soon by such distress as I filled the role they gave me. _Coming back to the present, Kenshin picked up the paper and began to slowly draw it down the blade he had been so proud of and now loathed. It was an excellent katana: even with all the use it had, it held its edge well. Even now, there were very few nicks. But, then he had always treated it well: the sharper the edge, the swifter and more merciful the death. Tomoe had died quickly.

With the next several strokes, he focused entirely on the process and stopped the familiar cycle of thought. He picked up the small can of uchiko and sprinkled a little sparingly along the katana's length and repeated the careful strokes with another piece of paper. He wanted the weapon to look as close to its original state as it could. When it was clean, he tightened the seating of the mekugi, as the fighting the last days had loosened it slightly. Now it was ready to oil. He had always enjoyed the scent of clove, and inhaled deeply as he wiped the blade evenly with the oiled cloth. When he was satisfied with the results, he picked up the saya and gently resheathed the blade. He had been able to wipe off the tsuka pretty thoroughly the night before, but inspected it once again. Finally laying the katana aside, he repeated the process with the wakizashi.

The rice had steamed long enough. Kenshin rose and tilted the small table down from where it leaned against the wall. He dipped a cloth in the bucket and washed his hands and face. Then fetching his cup and bowl and hashi from the shelf, he scraped some rice into the bowl and set it on the table to cool while he went back to the shelf for a turnip and some tea. As he settled to eat while the tea steeped, his mind was calm and he enjoyed the mild softness of the rice as it contrasted with the crunch and strong flavor of the turnip. Today, he did not taste blood. When he drank, he could feel the warmth of the tea spreading through his body. He had enjoyed the methodical steps of cleaning his weapons and the ordinary movements of preparing his meal. Ritual soothed him and allowed his busy thoughts to still. After nearly four and a half years, it was still somewhat wearing to be in the midst of so many people, having to deal with their demands and expectations. When he was alone, he did not have to worry about alarming or distressing someone if his mood turned dark. Or having a rare good mood ruined by the injustice and thoughtless cruelty he saw so often around him.

His meal over, he rinsed his dishes and hashi before returning them to the shelf. It would be cold enough that he could leave the rice on the table, but first he spread a cloth on the table and shaped some rice balls that he placed upon it and carefully wrapped.

It was midafternoon now: he had heard the temple bells sounding the beginning of the hour of the Sheep. He removed the hakama that was no longer respectable and set it in the corner to be taken to the dealer. He wanted to look his best. _I cannot wear the hanten…Perhaps if I wear the hakama-shita beneath my other kimono; that should be warm enough._ Making the change, he had to smile at the added bulk: it seemed sometimes as though everyone commented on his slenderness. This should temporarily silence them! Untying his hair, it was once more to a shelf to get his comb. After washing it and sleeping on it, his hair was a mass of knots and it took time and patience to work them loose before he put it back up into a high club and wrapped it once again with a cloth. As he put the comb back, he took down a jar that had once held tea and shook out some coins into his hand. Putting some back, he slipped the rest into his sleeve. He picked up his wife's shawl from where it lay and once again wrapped it around his neck and shoulders. He banked the coals in the brazier. He picked up his weapons and settled them into the ties of his hakama. Finally, he picked up the small bundle of food. Now he was ready. He slid open the door and stepped back out into the bright sun of the winter afternoon.

There was a market area just two streets away from the row house and that was where Kenshin was heading. As he walked rapidly along, he ignored the occasional sidelong look he got from strangers made nervous by touchy samurai. Most of the people who patronized these stores were from the area and were so accustomed to seeing him that they ignored him in turn. Ducking his head slightly to pass under the noren of a small shop, he found the young woman in charge.

"Irasshaimase!" she bowed. "What may I help you find?"

"Dōzo, I would like a bundle of incense."

"Oh, aa. We have many fragrances. Allow me to show you what we have." She smiled and led him towards shelves filled with bundles and sticks. "Is there a particular scent you desire?"

Her phrasing wrenched at Kenshin's heart— that he_ desired_…—but keeping his face still, he replied after the barest moment, "Do you have white plum?"

She hesitated. "We have many floral scents, but I am not sure if we have that one. It is a rather unusual one for incense." She searched through the shelves and finally turned triumphantly with two bundles in her hand. "Would you like them both?"

"One will do." She wrapped the bundle in paper as he counted out the coins. He barely acknowledged her "Dōmo arigatō," as he left the store and headed west along Takatsuji-dori towards Bukkoji.

As he passed through the temple gate, he paused at the basin to rinse his hands and lips, remembering Tomoe as they visited the temple at Ōtsu. Bracing himself, he slowly moved towards the small cemetery at the edge of the grounds.

Her stone tablet looked small and insignificant tucked between the family memorials, but it had been all he could afford after returning to Kyoto. He could not let her just vanish into his mind alone: there must be some physical sign that she had lived.

He knelt before the stone and placed the bundle of rice balls before it and then lit the incense, watching as the smoke rose in the still, cold air. If anyone asked, he could not say that he believed in these gestures, but they would have meaning for his wife, who had been a sincere Buddhist.

His heart ached and his eyes stung as he looked up into the sharp blue sky. His thoughts were fragmented with his grief and guilt. _Tomoe…You are not here-- I_ _killed_ _you! I burnt you.--this-- is just a stone… _He clenched his fists as the tears ran down his face. He had not been able to bring himself to come to this place since the stone had been set. Yet another failing on his part. _If you have indeed come back to this world, I hope that your new life will treat you more kindly, that you will have happiness. Perhaps you will find Kyosato once again... I am leaving now to fulfill the promise I made you. I will not kill…I will make restitution as best I can. I_ will_ keep _this_ promise, though I failed you before. _

Though he knelt there for a long while, he felt no absolution, no faint ghostly presence that he had sometimes imagined in quiet moments. There was only the muted sound of the monks chanting in the temple. With a sigh, he rose and went back to the basin for the dipper. As he poured the water over the stone he had a brief flash of memory—Shishou pouring sake over three stones—and murmured, "Sayonara." Returning the dipper to its place, he left the temple behind, but not the memories.

The most difficult visit was behind him now, and the next would be quickly reached. But Kenshin walked slowly, pausing to watch the river, allowing himself to reach an emotional balance again. This was the part of town most familiar to him, the hardest for him. Chōshū headquarters had been on this road and within a few blocks had been the Kohagi-ya where he had lived with the other men. Both had burnt in the fires. To reach the house where Katsura was staying, he would cross the Kamogawa at either Shijo-Ohashi or Sanjo-Ohashi---both, haunted bridges for him. Just before Sanjo, he would pass the Ikeda-ya where treachery had led to so many deaths both that night and in the later battle. And the bridge itself had seen several of his running fights with the Shinsengumi. On Shijo, he would see the face of the man he had slain whose blood had spread across the planks and dripped into the river. Iizuka had joined him on the banks that night and praised his skill.

Kenshin continued along the river, choosing to cross at Sanjo. The river farther down mirrored the blue of the sky. Blue above, blue below. All the rest was neutral, from the tan of the dregs of ice in the shadows, to the gray of the stone pavement and the browns of buildings and barren trees. Even the people passing by seemed to merge into the scene with their black hair and dark winter clothes.

Now he was moving towards the base of the mountains where many of the wealthy and important shared space with shrines and temples. Tall evergreens and feathery bamboo began to relieve the monochromatic landscape and soften the lines of the tall wooden or plaster walls around the compounds. Katsura's gate was closed, of course. The gate at this house was heavier than many and great care was taken with security. Despite the Loyalist's victories—or because of them--, their leaders' lives were always in jeopardy. He rapped on the gate, knowing that he would have been spotted while he was still at some distance from the house.The gate was swung open and he was faced by one of Katsura's armed house guards, hand on sword. The guard's eyes widened with recognition and he bowed.

"Himura-san! Katsura-san will be very pleased to see you! No one seemed to know where you were after Fushimi. Please to come in." The other guard standing behind the partially opened gate relaxed and they both stepped back to allow Kenshin entrance. Once in, the first guard preceded him up the nobedan and up onto the engawa. As their steps resonated on the boards, a household servant slid the main door open and offered greetings.

"Himura-san! It is good to see you again. Katsura-san is in the main room. May I take you to him?"

Kenshin moved into the entry and slid off his straw zori as the guard retreated back to his post. Once he was ready, the woman moved quietly off down the corridor with Kenshin following soft-footed. They turned the corner of the building and went part way down the next side before coming to the main room. Despite the cold weather outside, a panel of the corridor wall had been opened, as had the room's shōji. The room, though chill, was bright with southern light and a pleasing view of the garden. Katsura sat at a low table facing the view, head down, writing.

The servant knelt and bowing, spoke: "Katsura-san. It is Himura-san that has arrived."

Katsura looked up quickly at her words and smiled with pleasure to see Kenshin standing there. He rose and came towards his guest, dismissing the woman with a wave of his hand once she had moved his writing materials from the table. He was a tall, handsome man who towered over his young visitor. Briefly setting his hand on Kenshin's shoulder, he welcomed him to his home.

"Himura-chan! I am relieved to see you! I was concerned that something may have happened to you. But here you are, apparently in good health. Sit down with me and let us talk."

The two men settled themselves on either side of the table and spoke desultorily for a time of the weather and the garden. They were a study in contrasts as they sat there: the well-dressed older man of large stature and the short, slender young man with his neat but well-worn garments. But they were alike, too: both soft-spoken, both accomplished swordsmen, both firm in their commitment to a cause.

Eventually the talk turned to the recent battle as Katsura questioned Kenshin closely on what he had seen. Kenshin responded with as much detail and objectivity as he found possible. Katsura already knew from previous conversations that though he was committed and reliable, he hated every battle he fought, especially the unnecessary deaths caused by the unwillingness to take or be taken prisoner. But that was one of the reasons that Katsura valued his opinions. Kenshin had no desire for personal glory or vengeance; he fought with the sole aim of bringing an end to the shogunate and its oppression.

"It seems to me that the Bakufu has received the killing blow with this battle. Anything else will simply be the final spasms of its death throes," Kenshin concluded and fell silent. _How unreal life often seems. I'm sitting here in a fine house with a peaceful garden when just yesterday I was covered in blood and surrounded by bodies. Life is there and then it's not…_

Katsura watched regretfully as his guest sat silently, staring out to the garden. He was accustomed to the occasional pauses that fell in conversations with Kenshin, when the young man seemed distracted by things unseen. It was just one of the changes wrought in Kenshin by the path on which Katsura himself had placed him. After a moment, he responded to Kenshin's last statement as though there had been no interruption.

"I agree with you. The Bakufu has steadily weakened over the past several months. And now that Yoshinobu has surrendered authority to the Emperor, their presence in Kyōto is minimal. Now, with Toba Fushimi, Yoshinobu is pulling back to Edo for a last attempt to preserve face."

Kenshin nodded acknowledgment, but continued to gaze at the garden pensively. Katsura contemplated the scene as well, wondering what his friend saw. The light had shifted and softened to a gold that edged the trees and bushes and traced the ripples in the koi pond where the fish rose to investigate the sparkles. But even as they watched, the gold dulled and the shadows grew heavier as the sun continued its slide. The room grew cold.

Katsura clapped his hands twice and the inner shōji slid open to reveal the serving woman kneeling in the doorway. "Bring some hot sake. And bring the evening meal as soon as it is ready." The woman bowed and slid the screen shut as he stood to light the lamps with a coal from the brazier. As though the oncoming night had released his thoughts, Kenshin sighed and focused on the older man as he closed the outer door and then the shōji. His hand rested on the familiar shape of the katana lying beside him. When Katsura had reseated himself at the table, Kenshin spoke:

"Katsura-sensei, three years ago when you asked me to stay and fight, I agreed. It would have dishonored all those I killed so that the new age could begin if I had walked away before the fight was complete. But we have both agreed that the old age is close enough to death to not recover, and the new day will soon begin. I am leaving."

Dismay combined with affection in the exclamation, "Kenshin! Don't rush into this…" He leaned back and ceased speaking as a brief knock came on the shoji. "Hai!" With his word, the shōji slid open and the servant brought in the tray of sake and set the bottle and cups on the table before bowing and exiting quietly, sliding the door shut behind her. Katsura picked up the flask and filled Kenshin's cup.

"There will still be a need for you…The new government will need reliable, honest men who understand the price that has been paid---who have helped pay that price. I can find you a position…"

"Iie," Kenshin cut him off as he leaned forward to pour for Katsura, "Even if I were interested, I know that if I had not surprised you, you would not have made the offer. A hitokiri as a government official? Everyone with any feeling would cry out in protest! I have no desire for people to know my name, or to learn my background, as they eventually would." He lifted the katana onto his lap and regarded it solemnly before sipping the warm sake. Katsura raised his cup and drank as well.

"I must admit, you are right in your evaluation of both me and the people. And yet, there are certainly things you could do. In the police force perhaps, or the military?"

"I will not kill again. Battousai will disappear back into the shadows. I was pleased to hear that no one was sure of what had happened to me in battle. I have tried not to draw attention today," and he tugged gently on the cloth that wrapped his head.

Katsura raised a brow and dryly remarked, "There is still a rather noticeable scar…"

The younger man's lips twitched and he gave his head a brief shake. "The scar is nothing of itself; there are badly scarred men all over town. The hair is the first thing anyone notices. It is the thing that causes them to take a second, closer look." His expression turned serious once again. "I have kept my promise to you. Now it is time for me to keep another promise. I will do what I can to help ordinary people live in peace and safety during Meiji. And so, I will no longer need these blades."

With that, he shifted to a formal kneeling position and, raising the katana while bowing his head, presented the sword to his mentor across the table. Katsura reluctantly reached out to receive it as Kenshin raised his head and met his eyes directly, "You honored me with the gift of this daishō. In returning it to you, I have no wish to belittle that gift, or deny its importance to me. But I can no longer use it, and it is too valuable to go to waste. Please accept it back with my great respect." And he also withdrew the wakizashi from his ties to hand to Katsura who placed them both to his right.

They were interrupted again by a knock as the woman entered the room with their meal. The men sat back in silence as she placed the dishes in an attractive pattern on the table and refilled their empty cups before she bowed and left the room again without a word. Katsura picked up his hashi and began to eat. Kenshin followed suit as he waited to see what the response would be.

"So. Where will you go?"

"I think I will just wander for a while. I have a very limited knowledge of our country. After having read some of the books you have loaned me, I would like to see more. It would be good to see ordinary towns that have not been torn apart by fighting. I hope to leave tomorrow." He felt an unaccustomed sense of anticipation as he spoke of his plans. It added savor to the meal that was much more elaborate than his usual fare. There was bream and shrimp, okra and sushi, chrysanthemum rice, and even mandarin oranges.

Katsura watched his young friend eat, pleased that for the moment there were no shadows. But he had to ask…"And how will you keep yourself while wandering?"

Kenshin looked up from reaching for a shrimp and raised his brows in question, "Nani?"

"How will you provide for yourself? Where will you get money?"

"I have some saved. When it's gone, I'll look for work."

Katsura shook his head slightly and smiled. "Most of the time, I forget how young you are. But every once in a while…"

Kenshin had an odd moment of déjà vu, remembering a similar expression on Shishou's face just before he referred to him as "baka deshi." It had been a long time since he'd felt that uncomfortable uncertainty. "And what have I just done to remind you of that fact?"

The older man sat back and folded his arms. "It is your optimism. I don't know how much you've been able to save, but depending on where you go, it may not last as long as you think. And you will have lots of competition for work. But I am pleased to see it there, even so." He smiled, sat forward and picked up his hashi once again. "For now, let's just enjoy the food: you may not eat this well again for quite a while."

The rest of the meal was eaten with little conversation beyond comments on the food. Katsura ate with a thoughtful expression that piqued Kenshin's curiosity. What was going on in that cunning mind? He was determined not to be persuaded into staying…

As they finished their tea and the woman came in to remove their dishes, Katsura excused himself and left the room with the daishō. Kenshin sat and appreciated the moment: he was in a large and attractive room, he was warm and comfortably full, he liked and respected his host, and he no longer bore the weight of a killing sword. He could not remember the last time he had felt so hopeful.

He heard the soft _shsh_ of tabi approaching the door, and Katsura entered carrying a slim book and a small bag which he set on the table before retrieving his writing materials from the top of a chest. He settled back down across from Kenshin and rested his hands on his knees before speaking in a business-like tone.

"You have been in the service of Chōshū for nearly five years. And though we have made extensive use of your remarkable skills, you have only been paid as a regular fighter." Kenshin opened his mouth to speak, but Katsura held up his hand and continued on. "I know it was by your own choice, and I know there were brief exceptions. But the fact remains that other assassins—such as 'The Butcher'—made a great deal of money through bounties on those they slew." Another palm up to stop Kenshin's protest. "And I know that you have never been like those others. It has not been a sport for you, a game, only a duty. Which, I believe, is one reason that you are still living and they are not. I also believe that Chōshū owes you more than it has given. That_ I_ owe you more than I know you will accept."

He opened the small bag and poured out a pile of gold coins. "Ten ryō. Money for emergencies or when you cannot find work. Consider it part of the yearly payment you should receive as samurai." He scooped up the coins and dropped them back in the bag, which he pushed in front of Kenshin. Picking up the book, he held it for Kenshin to see: it was a book of poetry—Basho. "When life is spent dealing with necessities, beauty and reflection are vital to refresh the soul." He placed it in front of Kenshin also and then pulled a piece of paper towards him as he picked up his brush. Dipping it in ink and beginning to write, he explained, "Once the new government is firmly established, these passes may no longer be necessary, but until then, this will keep you from being declared outlaw or _ronin_." As it was passed to him, Kenshin skimmed it and found that it was a document declaring him to be a Chōshū samurai authorized to travel wherever necessary for an unspecified period of time.

He was stunned and speechless, looking at Katsura with amazement. Katsura merely smiled, but then, sobering, told Kenshin. "If you do not accept these things, I will be offended. This is a debt that I feel is owed to you, and I will lose face if it is not paid." And with those words, he effectively stifled any protests or denials Kenshin could make.

Once Kenshin had looked at the paper, Katsura took it back and stamped it with his seal as Kenshin stammered his thanks. Pushing it to the side to finish drying, he placed his palms down on the table. "There are two more things I need to speak to you about. Earlier, you mentioned your hair…"

"Hai?" _This was a rather odd topic_…

"Just recently we have received notice that a decree has been made that samurai are to no longer wear their hair pulled up. It will be published and posted within the week. If you do not change, it will be more than just the color that draws attention."

"I have no problem with changing. Perhaps it is a good sign if we wear our hair like everyone else. And the other matter?"

"There is something I would like you to do before you leave tomorrow."

_What will Katsura-sensei ask? All my past assignments have involved the use of my sword…_

"What may I do for you?"

"You are acquainted with Arai Shakku, the swordsmith? He has provided quite a few weapons for the Ishin Shishi over the years."

"Hai. I've seen him coming and going, doing repairs. And spoken to him once or twice."

"He is the one that forged the swords that you have returned to me. The last I spoke to him, he was telling me about several unusual swords he has made these last years. Lethal things, most of them, but hard to use. However, I believe I've found a use for one. Will you take a message to him for me? He lives on the southeast edge of the city, but if you went very early, you should still be able to leave tomorrow, as you desire."

Kenshin rubbed his neck in consideration. "If you feel that it is not something you can entrust to your regular people, I would be most willing to do it. Do you not wish it to be known? Is there a need for caution?"

Katsura folded his arms as an odd smile appeared on his face. "Let me say that I would prefer that you not be seen. Another reason why the _very_ early morning would be a good time."

"Ah, sō ka? Then give me your message and I will take it before dawn."

Katsura drew another piece of paper in front of him, and after remixing the ink with his brush, proceeded to write the letter. Kenshin was careful to keep his eyes away from what was written and occupied his mind with planning his next day's schedule. He looked up when he heard the rustle of paper being folded. Katsura held a bar of wax over the candle in the lamp near the table and dripped some on the note, sealing it with his stamp. As Kenshin reached out to take it and slip it in his sleeve, he caught the low tone of a distant bell: it must already be the hour of the Dog! He started up from his place and bowed.

"Gomen nasai, Katsura-sensei. I did not intend to take up so much of your time! Please forgive me."

The older man rose at an unhurried pace and responded, "I have enjoyed your company and am sorry you are leaving. I would try to keep you longer, but I do have things that must be done tonight. And you have your journey to prepare for. I'll make sure no one here speaks of your visit. If you find it convenient on your travels, perhaps you would write occasionally and tell me what you see."

Kenshin slipped his warrant into a sleeve, the money into his obi, and picking up the book, followed his host to the front of the house where he bowed once again. "Katsura-sensei. Dōmo arigatō gozaimashita. I am grateful for the gifts, and for all you have done for me these years. I look forward to the new government that you and the others will create. Sayonara."

The _de facto_ head of Chōshū stood at the door and watched his visitor walk down the path and vanish out the gate—into the shadows, just as he had said. Kenshin had thanked Katsura for all that he had done, but Katsura knew that all the books he had loaned, dinners shared, or small favors offered would never balance out the grief and guilt that his decisions had engraved in the younger man's heart.

Kenshin was restless. It was too late for the shops he needed to go to, but if he went home, he would not sleep: he was tight with anticipation. Rather than going back towards the city center, he followed the road east further up the slope and took the dog-leg that would bring him to the Path of Philosophy. There were few lights up here—an occasional glow through the trees from a temple. But it didn't matter. The moon was full and the world was black and white with crisp edges to silhouettes and shadows. The moon kept pace with him, floating along the canal as he walked the bank. Sometimes the shadows of the tree limbs would try to trap it, but it always slipped through their net and continued at his side.

It was odd to be out at night, and swordless. Bright nights like these had made the killing harder; he looked for shadowed places where he would be harder to see and where the aftermath of his work would not be so clear in his sight. He paused at a spot where a property wall ended and he could look down onto the spread of the city. Most of the lights were like fireflies, but there were larger clusters that marked temples or shrines. The most lights shone at the Imperial Palace and at Gion.

He continued on, thinking about the evening with Katsura. He remembered the moment when he had been reminded of Shishou—the amused smile, the chuckle at his naiveté. Funny how he had never before noticed how similar the two men were: persuasive, cultured, _tall_, and single-minded in their pursuit of a goal. They would probably get along well with each other…

The night was very still. No wind to rattle branches and too cold for insects. The high walls and evergreens muted any sounds of people. His thoughts drifted like the moon, through the shadows of his past. His family; the people who took him in briefly; the slavers; the bandits; Shishou; Katsura and the Shishi; Tomoe. And as though this night's moon made all things clear, he saw that although he often felt lonely, he had never been entirely on his own. _Never made all my own decisions; never had complete power over my own actions._ Just as the country was facing a new beginning, so, too, would tomorrow bring him an entirely different life.

It was as he passed Honen-in that the skin along his spine and shoulders began to prickle with an awareness of desperate intent. He listened carefully and soon caught the faint sound of bare feet stepping softly. He began to move his hand to his hip, only to remember that he no longer had a sword. The footfalls sped up and in that moment, Kenshin knew that this was an amateur attacking: the idiot had let his shadow fall before him, so that Kenshin could see an upraised arm holding something too short to be a sword. As soon as he could hear the assailant's breathing, Kenshin stepped to his right and turned slightly towards him, grabbing the upraised arm with his right hand and pulling him in the direction he was already going. The attacker's balance shifted and Kenshin bore down on the arm. As the man bent, Kenshin swung his left leg over the man's right shoulder, forcing him to kneel. Twisting the arm up and back took him the rest of the way down, onto his stomach, and allowed Kenshin to remove his weapon. It was a tessen; the man might have knocked him unconscious, but unless he knew more about fighting than he seemed to, death was unlikely. So, if he wasn't trying to kill him…robbery? That was a novel thought: this was the first night he'd ever carried any amount worth stealing.

As he stood there, considering, he could feel his prisoner trembling. Dismayed, it suddenly occurred to him that he was not really sure what to do next. Whether as assassin, bodyguard, or soldier, all his previous fights had ended in an opponent's death. But now he had taken an oath not to kill…and yet, if he let him go, what was to keep him from harming others? Plus, there was the added problem that if he truly intended to 'just disappear,' it would not be wise to show up at the police station tonight with a criminal in tow.

The trembling was getting worse. Kenshin eased up on the arm, but placed a foot firmly on the back. "Why did you attack me?"

His assailant shifted his head to the side and answered in a shaky voice, "I needed money. I saw the wallet you are carrying." Something about the voice made Kenshin carefully lean over to get a better look at the face. It still had the youthful fullness and smooth skin of a young boy; he looked to be about 13. Kenshin removed his foot from the boy's back.

"Baka! I could have killed you! Sit up." He released the arm, but stood ready with the tessen in case the boy tried something else foolish.

"I thought it would work! You didn't have any weapons and you're a lot smaller than me…"

The incredible ignorance in the words made Kenshin want to shake the child. This must have been his first try at robbery, or someone else surely would have already killed him.

"Do you have _no_ sense? You can't judge by appearances! There are men—even _small_ men, like me—who can kill with their hands. Many carry hidden weapons. If you see someone walking alone, it's not always because they are stupid; it may be because they are confident that they can take care of themselves in any situation. Look at my clothes! They are not the clothes of a person with money. And that _wallet _that you thought you saw was a book." He gestured to where it lay in the dirt. "You could have died for a_ book_."

Standing there with his arms crossed, looking down at the sniveling boy into whose skull he was trying to drive some sense, he felt a brief moment of sympathy for Shishou. _If I was ever this ignorant, I truly was 'baka deshi'._

"But I have to have money! And I have no other way…" The sniffs were turning to actual tears now.

_I don't think I was_ ever_ that young. This boy should be home. _In a milder tone, Kenshin asked, "What causes this desperate need for money?"

"My family fell into debt and so they sold me into service. But I hate it! My master is cruel and beats me! I've run away, but I can't go home: they'd just have to send me back. I want to leave Kyōto, but I need money!"

_Foolish as he is, how can I not help? I've lost family. I've been sold for debts...I've said that I want to help the poor and unfairly treated; no person should be bought or sold as though they were shoes or sweet potatoes. So, what do I do? _He stood pensively looking down at the hopeless youth while turning over possibilities in his mind. He couldn't actually afford to give the boy any of his own money. But perhaps…

He nudged the hunched form with his toe, "Oi! In what part of Kyōto does your master live?"

The dark head raised and a sleeve was drawn across the runny nose. "North and west of here. Not too far from the Imperial Palace."

"Good. Are you willing to stay in Kyōto for a while—at some distance from your master—and earn the money?"

After the barest hesitation, the boy nodded. Kenshin slipped the tessen into his obi and walked over to pick up his book and brush it off. Walking back past the boy, he said, "Get up and follow me." He kept walking and soon heard the beat of feet hurrying to catch up.

Kenshin was able to enjoy the peace of the night as they retraced his steps along the Walk although he was conscious of the repeated glances of the boy who trailed along just behind his right shoulder. He _was_ bigger than Kenshin—by at least 4 inches and probably several pounds—and his bafflement was almost palpable. But by the time they reached Higashioji-dori, his fear evidently eased and he began to talk. And talk. In a voice that occasionally cracked, he told Kenshin his name. About his family. What his father did. How they got into debt. What his master did. How he decided on robbery. On and ON. How could one person talk _so much? _Finally, when they reached Shijo–dori, Kenshin turned, and with only a mildly threatening tone in his voice, said, "Please. Be. Still."

The silence was instantaneous.

_I've always liked children. I manage well with people older than I. But I have never been around someone this age. He's like that puppy I once saw: big and eager and awkward. And needing discipline. I can't turn him loose outside Kyōto on his own. He'll be eaten alive. _

Kenshin was relieved when they finally came to the shop several streets west on Gojo-dori. He had begun to feel guilty for snapping as he felt the embarrassment and uncertainty radiating from his companion. Fortunately, it was not too late: he could still see lights from the living quarters upstairs. He picked up some small stones from the edge of the road and threw them at the shutters. Three, and then one. And then waited.

Soon they heard the rattling of the lock and the door slid open. The interior was dim and it was hard to see the face of the man in the doorway, but he recognized Kenshin and let them both inside. Kenshin sat the boy down and told him to wait while he spoke to the man. (_Sit! Stay!) _The two men wentto the back of the store and began to speak in low voices that did not carry.

"Himura-san! What do you need?"

"Do you still need help with your store, Kotaro-san?"

The elder man stroked his beard in confusion. "Hai. But why would you need to come in the dark and give the sign for the safe-house to ask me this?"

"I have two reasons. First, I need you to forget that you saw me tonight. Second, the helper I've brought you is a runaway slave. He tried to rob me tonight to get money to leave Kyōto."

"Tried to rob you? And he's still living? Must be quite a fighter."

Kenshin rubbed his neck. "You obviously didn't look closely at him. He's 12 years old and has no idea what he's doing. But he is willing to earn the money. His master lives on the other side of the palace. I believe if you keep him close to the store, no one's likely to find him. Are you willing to take him?"

"Certainly. It will be good to have someone young around again. But he'll be moving on?"

"That's currently his plan. But he has no one to go to. If there is somewhere you could send him that is safe, it would be a good thing. He seems to have little understanding of the real world." _I hope he is not crushed before he learns._

On Kotaro's agreement, Kenshin returned to the boy and gave him back his tessen. "Kotaro-san has agreed to hire you. He needs help here because his son was killed during a fight. You'll be able to sleep here and eat here and earn a wage. But in return, you do exactly as he says. Wakarimasu-ka?"

The youth stood and bowed deeply to both Kenshin and Kotaro, who still stood at the back. "Hai! I will do my best. Dōmo arigatō gozaimashita!" Kenshin nodded and without another word, slid open the door and left.

He was easily up before dawn. His night had been restless. There was the tightly wound feeling that comes with expectation. And bad dreams, of course: it was a rare night when he did not dream of blood and fighting. But last night's misadventure had left a nagging question: if it had not been a boy, but a determined criminal, what would he have done? What degree of injury, short of death, was acceptable? And once incapacitated, what to do with him? Leave him? It was something that he was going to have to work through and get clear in his mind if he was to be able to keep the spirit of his oath, as well as the letter.

He stood and stretched to loosen up after having slept in his usual sitting position. By the time he'd returned home it had been late enough and cold enough that he had not bothered to undress or light the brazier. He'd just wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and leaned back against the wall. Even without a sword, it was a safer way to sleep than flat on his back, tangled in covers.

The dropping temperature told him that the sun would rise in about an hour. He stirred up the banked coals and added a couple new ones. He ate the cold rice that was left in his pot, but made a cup of tea for the inner warmth it would give. As he drank, he read the directions to Arai's house that Katsura had written on the outside of the paper. Walking quickly, he would be there within twenty minutes. Leaving the book and the warrant on the table, and banking his fire once again, he put the pouch of coins in his sleeve for safe-keeping and went out into the dark of the morning.

The moon was still up, but was starting its descent behind the western mountains. The south and east were beginning to fade to pearl gray. He could hear the chirps of a few birds. As the sky lightened, the numbers would grow until it seemed that every tree had its own chorus. The air would be filled with sound. As he walked, a breeze began to whisper past him, pushing a few thin clouds towards the southwest. The houses and shops were much farther apart out here. Many of the people had skills that required space for their work, such as Arai's forge.

By the time Kenshin arrived, the sky was pale blue halfway up and the clouds had increased. Arai's house was off by itself, one side of the house fenced for a private garden, the other left open to the fields and the breeze. To one side was a smaller building that he saw was the forge. Even at this early hour, the door was open and the fire glowing within. As he approached the door, he was not sure it would be wise to call out loud enough to be heard over the pounding if this errand was supposed to be discrete, so he settled for standing in the doorway until he was noticed.

The swordsmith gave a few more blows to the blank and plunged it into the water bath before walking out to meet Kenshin. He was a man of about 30, with hair shorter than usual, and skin tanned to leather by his fires. Despite the cold, he was running with sweat and wore nothing but a sleeveless leather vest and pants like a peasant. Kenshin held out the message: "From Katsura-sensei."

The smith, pulling the scarf from his forehead, used it to mop his face as he reached out for the folded paper. Shoving the cloth into his waistband, he proceeded to break the seal and read over the contents. As he finished, he gave a _hmph _and stared at Kenshin for a moment. Grunting a brusque "Wait here," he strode into his house.

Kenshin moved towards the field to watch the sky as he waited. The sun was not yet in sight, but the sky had turned pink. The clouds scudding by were two-tone. Rosy beneath to match the horizon, blue above to match the rest of the sky. _I wonder if the weather will be good enough to travel today…_

Arai emerged from his house. He'd belted a kimono on loosely over his work clothes and carried a sword over his shoulder. While still some distance away from Kenshin, he stopped. "I hear you are leaving the revolution, Himura. We've just won the first battle at Toba Fushimi, the revolution has finally started to become a reality--and you run out." Kenshin reminded himself that Arai-sensei had a very abrasive manner; it would be easy to take offense, but not wise. The smith nodded with a smirk towards the emptiness at Kenshin's side where a sword should be, "And where do you plan to _go_ without your sword?"

He replied mildly "I have Katsura-sensei's permission, Arai-sensei. A way will be found to protect the people of the new age… without having to kill."

The smith shrugged and grunted, "If there is such a way, I'd like to hear it myself. But after all the men you've killed, why run away now? Live by the sword and die by the sword. That's the only path you have." Arai dropped the sword from his shoulder and abruptly tossed it towards Kenshin, who automatically caught it. "It's a gift." The man turned his back and began walking back toward the forge as he spoke: "It's a failure. But for you, right now, it's enough. Try being a swordsman with that at your waist. You'll soon see how naïve you're being."

Confused, Kenshin looked down at the sword in his hand. _Katsura-sensei, you did this. But why?_ He reluctantly slid the blade a little ways out of the saya. And then, his eyes widening in surprise, drew it fully. _The edge is on the wrong side! Why would a swordsmith make a sword such as this?_ Katsura-sensei, he realized, had known of this blade. Who would want a backwards sword except a swordsman so backwards himself as to vow not to kill?

Pausing at the doorway, the smith called back without turning, "When that sword breaks, and still you're able to believe your own sweet lies, come to Kyōto and seek me out." Before Kenshin could reply, he strode back into his forge. Kenshin carefully resheathed the sword and slid it into his ties. He paused to watch the sky a while longer as it brightened to gold, filled with gratitude towards his friend.

The things he needed to do before he left had seemed to stretch and multiply, but he was finally ready and on his way to the west check point. His landlord had not been happy to lose him, but he only paid for a week at a time anyway…It had taken more haggling than he liked at the second-hand dealer's, but he had finally acquired the clothing he needed as well as a bamboo container for water and a second blanket, which was currently serving as a sling to carry all his possessions across his back. He hadn't purchased much food: some rice, dried fish, a daikon.

After packing everything else, he had knelt for a time with his wife's diary in his hands. He had decided to leave it at Bokku-ji: it seemed that all that was truly left of her spirit should remain where her memorial was. He had had no body to place there, no ashes—they had long since mingled with the ashes of their home and the ground it was built on. Only her thoughts, written down each night. Her secrets, her feelings, never revealed to him until it was too late to change their fate. He knew it was the right thing to do: he _felt_ it was right. And yet….

So he had gone to the temple. He did not go back to her headstone—he had already said his farewells and knew he could not bear it again—but merely sought out a priest and gave him the book and a small amount of money that sutras might be chanted on her behalf. And left, fighting the desire to change his mind.

He was close to Nijō now. He had not been here during the day since he became an assassin. Now the Shōgun was gone. The Emperor had power-- with armies to enforce his decrees-- and had declared the beginning of "Meiji." The streets _should_ be safer. But Kenshin's hair was still covered, and his senses were still stretched and alert. On his left was the wood and plaster fence surrounding Nijō-jinya. He had been there once, one evening with Katsura. He had spent most of the time sitting above the main chamber, listening and watching through the seeming skylight without being seen. But it had ended badly. Tempers had overcome reason and a fight had started. He had had to jump down into the midst of the melee to protect Katsura and lead him down the dark hall and up the thrusting beams to a hidden room until all was safe and quiet.

At the end of the street, the high castle walls loomed above him, presenting a blank face to all who wondered about the magnificence inside. Turning west, he followed the imposing wall—aware of his smallness, but not intimidated. Shinsen-en beckoned to passersby with its spring of clear water and its garden, still beautiful in winter. He was content to merely admire it as he walked past: he had no desire to retrace the steps he took for one of his 'assignments.' There were surprisingly few people out, considering that the scudding clouds of the morning had given way to a clear and pleasantly warm sky. But much of this area contained the houses of the upper class, people who had served the Shōgun. Many were empty now that the Shōgun had left, with the owners fearing for their safety.

Kenshin strode along at a rapid pace, ready to put the city far behind him. This check point was manned, although it was not clear by whom. From the guards' speech, he would guess Satsuma. He reached into his sleeve and presented the warrant that Katsura had given him. The name Katsura and the fact that he was leaving the city rather than entering sped him through inspection with no more than a brief remark about the recently fought battle. Once out, the plain stretched before him, the long brown grass of winter growing in the few spots where farmers had not cleared and planted. It was the hour of the Horse. The sun was high and warm and the fields were still. He watched the faces of people he passed. _What am I looking for? What do I expect to see?_

After searching his heart, it came to him that he was seeking vindication, hoping to see signs already that life was better for these people. The realization made him feel foolish at his impatience. _If Sakamoto-san had_ _lived a little longer, he may have been able to prevent_ _these last senseless battles. But he was killed by an assassin like me…Until they're ended, any change will be slow. _After that, he kept his eyes on the mountains, watching them draw closer.

He was surprised at how hard it was to leave Kyōto. He had looked forward to this day, to the changes that would follow. But as the city fell farther behind him, he felt as if something were missing. The few friends he had were back there. The physical connection to his wife was there. He was the person he was because of Kyōto. All the things that bound him to the city were pulling at him, calling him back. Even the dead reached out to him, seeking to keep him bound to the site of his crimes.

But he would go forward to the mountains. He had considered traveling east first, but had found something inside him urging him back to his beginnings, to the village in Chōshū where his family had lived. As he left his old life –and Kyōto—behind, the first part of his new life, then, would be a sort of pilgrimage to his past. Along with Chōshū, the mountains before him were a part of that past.


	2. Chapter 2 Atagoyama

If you haven't seen Trust and Betrayal, you might want to watch it **before** you read this. You will find modified portions of that movie and manga vols. 20 & 21 in this chapter.

And be aware this gets kind-of gory. Not hugely…I had to stop watching CSI 'cause it got to be a bit much for me.

**Disclaimer: Kenshin is not mine, nor Shishou, slavers, bandits, Akane, Sakura, Kasumi, Tomoe. No profit made, nor sought. It all goes to Watsuki and multiple corporations.**

New words: Shishou—older-style version of 'master'

jorou-ya—brothel(s)

sakabatou—who could know Kenshin and not know this? Reverse-blade sword

okāsan—mother

tanto—long knife, dagger

ri—2.4 miles

Tsutzumi—a drum, here used as one of the names for Orion

Yowatashi boshi—"passing the night stars": basically, the constellations

imōto—little sister

Ohayō gozaimasu—good morning

seiza –formal kneeling posture

saya—sheath

tsuka—hilt

kashiragane—end cap of the hilt where we'd have a pommel

mune—blunt spine of the sword

kuiaratame—repentance

yama—mountain

gawa--river

torii—shrine gate

Ah and Un— (not sure of spelling) the pair of beasts (dogs?) often seen at the front of shrines: they are believed to eat evil so that it cannot enter. (if I have any part of this wrong, someone more familiar with this than I, please correct me)

Stuff in Italics are Kenshin's thoughts. Still no paragraph indentations, sigh…

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**Ichirizuka **

**Ch. 2 Atago-yama**

The farms were behind him and the long grass flowed before him to the trees at the foot of the mountains. This was an area of temples and shrines. Once the temples had been palaces, but as the rulers died, they had been left to holy men in hopes that the gift would grant the former owners favor in the next life. Kenshin had seldom gone to Kyōto with his master, but Matsunō Taisha had been a frequent destination. It would require a brief detour now, but he needed some of the shrine's water.

He passed Koryu-ji. The abundant maple and cherry trees that drew so many admirers to the area in the spring and fall were now skeletal. Kenshin was possessed of an odd notion as he passed them by: their empty branches looked so like roots…perhaps top and bottom had reversed, and somewhere underground were leaves and blossoms… The sound of his zori was a soft shuffle as he crossed wooden Togetsu over the strongly flowing Katsura-gawa. The water ran high and looked frigid.

The small booths put up by sake makers clustered at a respectful distance outside the shrine. This was the shrine at which those men worshiped, thanking the resident gods for the water that made their product so desirable. Those booths were also the main reason for Shishou's and his trips to the spot, though Shishou always made a token visit to the shrine.

Kenshin passed beneath the torii, and between Ah and Un, who stood still and let him pass. He did not go to the grand shrine, but one of the lesser houses, to clang the bell and clap and bow and clap again. "To get the god's attention," his mother had told him long ago. He was not sure the gods ever paid attention, but this was the pattern he had been raised in, and he was still respectful.

Duty fulfilled, he followed the trail, lush with bushes still green, that led to the sacred spring. Out of the sun, under the pines and cedars, it was chill and dim, and the clear water was dark with the color of the rock beneath it. At the fount, he picked up the ladle and took a sip before he carefully dipped some of the holy water into his bamboo container.

He was soon back on the road, retracing his route over Togetsu, but this time passing to the west of Seiro-ji and crossing the Kiyotaki. The trail ascended to Adashino and its tiers of countless gray buddhas. This temple gave burial to the unclaimed dead. Perhaps, if he had died with the rest of the slaves, he would have ended there, watching the valley beneath for all time. There were worse things…

But he passed Adashino by, and continued a little further to where the trail forked. If he continued on, the road would climb to the pass and Kiyotaki village, where they had often purchased supplies. He would take the left-hand fork today. It would take him around Ogurayama, to the bottom of Atago-yama and the Hozu-gawa. The mountains looked as though they were molting: vast patches of barren trees standing sere against the evergreens, waiting for their new growth.

The road wound around the base of Atago-yama. After nearly five years, the twists and turns were still familiar to him. The place he sought came after the road had climbed away from the river, looping into a small valley that carved a deep groove into the side of the mountain before it dipped down again to a lower level. There was a point at each side of the valley where the loop disappeared, giving the illusion of being able to see the whole road: it had been a good spot for the attack. As a boy, he'd just considered it happenstance, or karma, that the slavers had been taking them on this road. Now that he was looking at it with the eyes of someone who had himself lain in wait, it bothered him. Why had they been on this road? There were better, safer, ways to get to Kyōto from Chōshū. And on such a lightly traveled road, what kind of prey had the bandits—if that was what they were—expected to find? He was no longer sure of what they'd been. If they were looking for money, why kill all the slaves, rather than taking them and selling them themselves? He would never know the answer: there was no one living to ask.

Kenshin veered off the road, walking a short distance under leafless trees towards the stand of old pines and the clearing it surrounded. The afternoon sun was still high enough to shine down into the maze of crosses and warm the air. It was nearly as he remembered it, though many of the crosses had fallen over. He slung his pack off his back and set it down under one of the trees along with the water and then began to pick up the fallen crosses and drive them once more into the soft ground with all the force of his arms. On the brief occasions that he had stopped here on his way home from Kiyotaki with Shishou it had surprised him, a little, that the graves had never appeared to be disturbed. Though at nine he was strong for his size from planting, hoeing, and scything, the graves had been shallow: it would have been easy for an animal to dig up the bodies. He was grateful that he had never found it so.

The three rocks that he had found and placed with such care still stood together, as the three women had stood to protect him. He retrieved the water from where he had left it and returned to the rocks.

"Kasumi, Sakura, Akane. I have no flowers this time, either. But I have brought water from a holy spring…,"

He opened the container and watched as the water flowed out and down over the grooves in the rocks, making trails of darker color before it puddled and soaked into the ground beneath. "Know that I still remember you and your sacrifice. I hope that wherever you are, your life is good."

He knelt before the stones and thought of the women. All of the women—there had been 11 in all, ranging from early teens to thirties—had been kind to him, but these three had taken him to their hearts and treated him as though he were one of their own: a little brother, perhaps. His young heart, still raw from having lost his family only a few months before, opened to them in gratitude for their affection. To lose them so quickly, and in such a way…He would have died to protect them, but they would not let him. Instead, all he could do was bury them and the others, dry-eyed.

And follow Shishou, to make sure he would never be helpless again. But of course, he had been. His family…the three 'sisters'…Tomoe: he'd never been able to protect anyone he loved.

The sun was disappearing from the valley, obscured by the height of the mountain, and the shadows were creeping along the ground towards him. To his left, he could see a portion of the sky glowing orange. It was at this time that Shishou had unexpectedly reappeared through the trees to speak, not unkindly, of grief and duty, and lead him away to another life, here on the mountain.

Kenshin rose and began to gather sticks: though the sun would continue to shine for another hour along the river gorge, night was almost upon him here. His mood had darkened also, and he did not feel like traveling any further. So, after starting a small fire, he pushed the fallen leaves into a pile and spread his extra blanket over them, pulling it up and around him as he sat, the sakabatou next to him. For dinner, he chewed on a piece of the dried fish and drank the little bit of water that he had left in the bottle: tomorrow he would have to refill it from one of the many creeks that ran into the Hozu.

The daytime sounds had hushed and the night noises were emerging. He could hear the river's rush more clearly on the night air, and the distant yip of a fox. He leaned his head back against the tree, looking up through the empty branches to watch for the moon, his hand reaching out by habit to rest on the sword. The unfamiliar feel of it caught his attention, but there was nothing he would do about it right then, so he went back to waiting for the moon, his thoughts wandering down well-worn paths.

If he had died here, it would have been a good thing in so many ways: no guilt for killing so many on the decision of others, no guilt for Kiyosato and Tomoe. No guilt for having survived the attack when everyone else—even the bandits—died. … No guilt for being grateful that the slavers had not reached Kyōto with their human wares.

While he lived with Shishou, he often dreamed of the horrible massacre he had witnessed, and thought about his days traveling as a slave. He had always just accepted that he was the only boy in the group, the only child. Even when he overheard the plans to sell the slaves to teahouses, he had thought nothing of it. Teahouses were where you drank tea, right? Perhaps he would work in the kitchen while his new friends served tea…

But later, he had lived with the men at the Kohagi-ya and listened, unnoticed, to their talk of teahouses and jorou-ya. And gone with Katsura as he visited Ikumatsu at the Yoshida-ya where she gathered information as she entertained. And he remembered all the comments he endured about his slenderness and feminine features, and some of the veiled suggestions when he was with the Kiheitai, and knew why he had been purchased along with the women…With the realization had come a fierce satisfaction that the slavers had died, only to be followed by confusion and guilt that he should be pleased with any part of the slaughter. Much easier if he had died…

The edge of the moon peered over the mountainside, looking for him. They had shared so many longs nights; this would be one more. As it climbed higher, he let the fire die down. He woke often enough at night to keep it from going out altogether. Picking up the sakabatou, he brought it under the blanket, out of the damp, and settled it on his shoulder. Leaving the moon to watch, he consciously relaxed against the tree and closed his eyes…

_Kasumi is so tall! And pretty! Okāsan was a lot shorter and she looked tired. But I miss her…No! I won't think of that. I wonder if we'll get any fish with our rice tonight? I hope we stop soon. _They were so close to Kyōto now that they were traveling late, taking advantage of the bright light of the full moon. Shinta looked up at the young woman who had watched over him the past three days. He'd been traveling with the slavers since they'd left Chōshū weeks ago, but three days past, Kasumi—along with two sisters, Akane and Sakura—had been bought. They were really nice. They'd tried to give him part of their food, telling him he needed it to grow. He knew he was little: back in his village, there were five year olds bigger than him. Imōto had been bigger than he was! But he just smiled and told them he was short like Okāsan.

Kasumi opened her mouth to say something to him, but her eyes grew wide with fear as the others around them began to shout and scream. She grabbed his hand and began to run, hampered by her kimono. He glanced back, and saw the bloody tip of a sword sprout from the chest of one of the slavers before a fleeing woman blocked the horror from sight, only to fall by the edge of the road herself, impaled by a spear. It was so unexpected, so unreal in its unnatural color, that he could only stare as he stumbled along with Kasumi. Everything seemed to slow, to grow crystalline in clarity, as he watched slashed throats spurting black blood; women he had sung with, eaten with, falling to the ground that quickly ran black. A spreading stain on the dark road…He was not even aware that he was still running, that Akane and Sakura had joined them. Sakura took his other hand to help pull him along, while Akane, noting his backward stare and glazed expression, dropped slightly behind to prevent him from seeing any more.

Kasumi had found a clump of leafy bushes beneath some pines and the three women huddled there with him, still as rabbits. The dark colors of the women's clothes might have saved them if one of the slavers had not run their way in an effort to escape his fate. But the armored robber cut him down with little effort, cleaving his chest open and spattering them with blood where they hid. Shinta could feel the women trembling with fear and the effort to remain unseen. The victim had fallen too close to their shelter, and Shinta could tell when the bandit noticed them…

He darted out and snatched up the sword that the slaver had not used, steadying it as best he could while panting with fury. _I can't…I can't let…so **heavy!**...They **can't** die! I won't **let** them die_! Before he could swing at the looming dark figures, he was jerked backwards as Akane ran forward, pleading for their lives. Her words were silenced forever with a vicious blow, and she fell to lie still, staring sightlessly at the white moon. Sakura started up in anguish, crying, "Oh, my dear sister!" only to be sliced through as she ran towards Akane. She sank to her knees slowly, gently, like a petal, and her breath sighed out as she crumpled. Her hand feebly groped towards her sister until it, too, became motionless.

Shinta had seen it all. Kasumi had thrust him flat, leaning over him till their faces nearly touched. But he could still see past her and feel Sakura's blood strike him in the face like heavy rain. Kasumi was speaking to him; he was aware of her mouth moving, but only caught fragments, "listen…" _This can't be happening! _"must live…"

_Akane! Sakura!_ Suddenly he felt her weight jerked off him as she was lifted by the hair and the gory sword was thrust through her throat. Her hands clutched at it as though to pull it out, but when it was yanked out, shredding her palms, she dropped to the ground. Even then, she twisted her head to look at him. This time he clearly heard what she said in a gasping, gurgling voice before the blade plunged into her heart. "Live! Live for me…Never give up…"

_Kasumi!... They've killed them!...They can't be allowed to hurt anyone else! _Kenshin rolled towards the sword that had fallen as he was grabbed. He came to his knees before the bandit leader, lifting it menacingly, surprised at its lightness. The man backed away, unnerved by the way the moon, reflecting in the young man's eyes, gave them a demonic glow. Before he could take another step, Kenshin launched himself silently. The blade caught the light and gleamed just before it buried itself up and under the man's chin and into his skull. He was dead immediately, and as he fell, Kenshin twisted the end out and without conscious thought jumped over the body, moving swiftly and quietly towards the remaining three. They began to spread out to give room for their swing, but he was upon them too quickly: lunging forward at an angle, he spun, his blade tracing an arc through the air, severing their heads. And all was still.

Kenshin looked up when he became aware of the crunch of footsteps. The features were indistinct with the moon behind, but the size…and the cape--"Shishou?" he called out in relief. There was no reply, but as the figure came closer, he could see that it was indeed his master. There was no recognition in his face, however, only a stern impassivity.

"Murderer."

Kenshin's eyes widened with shock. He lowered the bloody sword that he still clutched in his hand and tried to explain…

"But, Shishou, I was onl-"

"You will not live long enough to offer excuses," the cold voice answered, and to Kenshin's horror, his master raised his katana to strike. _Ryū Sou Sen Garami! _Kenshin blocked the strikes, but staggered backwards from the force of the blows.

"Shishou, they were evil men. They killed all these people! They would have killed me!" he cried. It was as if he had said nothing.

"You have killed them all. I see their blood on you." His master advanced once again and Kenshin could tell by the tensing of the man's legs that he was about to spring: _Ryū Tsui Sen! _He tried to side-step as he raised the sword above his head, but Shishou was descending too swiftly: all he could do was drop to one knee as the katana met his blade to try and absorb the impact. He was smashed onto the ground and lay gasping, tears in his eyes from effort and frustration.

"Shishou! It's me! It's Kenshin! I'm your pupil!" The dark silhouette loomed above him, edged with the moon's glow. The eyes looked at him with no pity, with disgust. The arm drew back the katana for a final thrust.

"I have no pupil."

His eyes flew open as he shuddered and gasped from the subconscious need to stay silent, even in distress. His chest ached from the effort to restrain his sobs, and he arched back against the tree and ground the heels of his hands into his wet eyes to try and dull the anguish that lingered. The sakabatou slid from his lap as he drew his knees up and hid his face within his arms, working his way through the haze of nightmare into reality. He felt fragile and tattered, but eventually raised his head to look across the clearing at the gathering of crosses and their moonlight shadows. Standing, he drifted through them, reaching out to touch one, then another, reassuring himself of the truth of that night.

Shishou had slain the robbers, had told him to be grateful for his life, and then had left. All that night and the next day he had labored to bury the dead. There had been a small spade in the supplies in case the carts got stuck, or for digging pits for toilets. Without it, he would never have finished. As it was, his hands were raw from the handle when he was done. It was as he was dragging the first-killed bodies from the road that he found his top, dropped and forgotten. Wiping his hands, he picked it up and studied it carefully--as though it held all the answers—before tucking it into his kimono. When Shishou had returned the next evening, he had been just sitting, his mind blank from exhaustion.

He felt exhausted now. Wandering back to his tree, he saw that he needed to build up the fire. Picking up the sakabatou, he thrust it through his ties and began to gather more wood; there was no telling if he would be able to sleep again.

He gathered more than he truly needed, keeping busy to work loose the muscles knotted by the tension of his dream. When he finally sat down again, he pulled his tanto out of his bundle. Drawing one of the larger sticks of wood from his pile, he began to shave off curls. He stirred the coals and threw some in to make the fire flare up, and then fed in some more tinder, and then some kindling. Once he was satisfied with how it burned, he sat back and watched the flames, but soon became restless. He needed something to do…

He picked up the stick and tanto once more, and began shaving more curls. He experimented with how wide he could make them, how thin, how long, until he'd peeled it clean. He picked up another and stripped it of its thin bark, too. He realized, without too much surprise, that somewhere in the process it had ceased being busy-work and become a directed effort. He was making another cross. His own.

Shinta was buried here. The body had lived, as Kasumi willed, but the young boy willing to trust everyone, love everyone? He'd buried him as he'd buried the dead, good and evil. Even the name had been left behind as he walked away with his new master. And the young Kenshin? He'd died, too, in Kyōto, with his belief that everything was black and white and clear to see. It was fitting that they should have a marker here on the mountain that had played such a role in their lives. Battōsai? Hitokiri Battōsai had never been a person. He was a construct, a golem built of guilt and horror, who had no thoughts, no hopes, no past, no future. What good were such things when his whole life was centered on death? This new self emerging from the safety of that shell was still nebulous, just forming. He did not yet know what he was.

After he'd bound it with a piece of the rope in his bundle, he rose and carried the marker over to a spot near the three stones. Kenshin held it in his hands a moment more, studying it. He'd been so young, so foolish! Shinta and that Kenshin almost seemed entirely separate from him: as though they were people he'd only known for a while. And yet, he missed them, and knew that part of him was lacking…the joy in simple things, an openness. He remembered telling Tomoe that he had begun to find those things with her. But that was long ago. Perhaps now he'd find those things again. He hoped so.

He planted the cross in the ground. It looked so bare…and he had no more water, no sake. They had been good people, if young. Tomoe had never known Shinta, but she had caught brief glimpses of the young Kenshin. _She would have liked both of them, I think._ _She watched over me in those first weeks…maybe she'll watch over them_. With that thought, impulse drove him back to his belongings to gather up her scarf and return to drape it over the cross. As he looked at it, he felt calmer and more settled than he had since he'd approached this place that afternoon. This, then, was why he had come.

It was much darker now: the moon had traversed the arc of sky above the valley and disappeared. His only light was the fire. But the demons had been laid to rest for the night, and perhaps he could rest as well. Kenshin went back to his blanket, nestled the sakabatou into his shoulder, gave a deep sigh, and fell asleep.

The cold finally forced him to move. He'd roused several times, as usual. Long enough to put some wood on the fire and make sure all was well before sliding back into a doze. But now, his cocoon of a blanket was not sufficient; even sitting so close to the fire, the back and shoulders of the blanket were wet with dew and ground-chill was creeping through the pile of leaves underneath it. He built the fire higher, a few hisses and pops from the moisture on the wood. The warmth felt good and would soon dry him out. He moved his bundle closer to the fire so it, too, would dry.

The sky was still dark. He got up, carrying the sakabatou, and moved to where the light of the fire would not affect his sight. He looked south, towards the mouth of the valley and the stars he could see. Tsutzumi, the drum, was sitting on top of the mountain across the river, so it was probably near the end of the hour of the Tiger. It was still a while before the sky would begin to lighten. With the moon behind the mountain, the road would be very dark until he reached the end of the loop and was back in the river gorge. But he might try it, just the same: his night vision was good, he was wide awake, and he had no water with which to make his morning rice.

He went back to the fire and rooted through his bundle to find the daikon. He sliced off a chunk and chewed it, standing, as he and the blanket dried. _I'll probably have to wear my boots for at least a while; once I leave the fire, my feet will freeze if I don't. Yesterday's warmth melted most of the snow, but higher up there'll still be patches. _When he was done, he crouched down and pulled out the boots and his hanten and put them on. Then repacked everything carefully, including the now-dry blanket, and rolled it up. Tying the ends of the roll together, he picked it up and slung it over his head and shoulder, settling it comfortably.

The fire still needed to be dealt with, so he scooped up dirt from where he crouched and piled it on the fire before he spread it out with a stick. He waited a bit, then piled and stirred some more. When he thought that it was cool enough that the dawn's mist from the river would finish the job, he stood and gathered the sakabatou from where it leaned against the tree, sliding it through his ties. As Kenshin left the clearing, he bowed to his dead, bidding them farewell. Once in the midst of the pines, he stood a moment to let his eyes finish adjusting. He used the time to retie the cloth around his head. There was only the starshine to light his way and he stepped carefully until he came to the relative smoothness of the road. Then he walked more briskly; the stream he remembered was only about half a ri away.

Kenshin had startled several deer at the stream, sending them bounding off. The water had been ice cold, of course, and he had drunk his fill before filling the container. Now, as he strode along, the moon setting before him was wrapped in a thin veil of cloud, diffusing the glow as though it were in a paper lantern. Behind him, pale streaks of color were forming. Below was the river, a constant rumble overlaid with the occasional chirp of a waking bird. It formed a subliminal background for his continuing discussion …

_Shishou may not even be there. He said that he had moved around a lot before he took me in. I never saw any of his calligraphy for sale in Kyōto…Maybe he **is** there. I could go see him…Maybe he **is** there, and he just doesn't want to see **me**! If he'd heard any rumors, he could have figured out where I was…._

He was irritated with himself for not being able to make up his mind. He **had** to decide soon, for the path that led upwards toward the small house where he had lived with his master was not far ahead. There **was** a very definite possibility that he was no longer there. The Revolution was already in motion the year he joined Shishou; his master had watched the progress each year with his characteristic fatalism, while Kenshin, on the rare occasion that he went into Kyōto with Shishou, watched and listened, and judged. By the time they parted ways, Shishou had been mentioning the possibility of them moving on for a couple of months and had been finishing up several commissions.

Dawn was breaking: the sun's golden glare was shredding the mist that had spread from the river, and its warmth had felt good on his back until the road curved with the folds of the mountainside. He would cross another stream-- the one fed by their waterfall-- and the path would be **there**, climbing in looping curves till it reached their small valley. He longed to go back…to his lessons, his chores, the evenings when Shishou would just talk to him… Their relationship had been stormy in the beginning. Shishou's taunts and demands had often led to confrontations, until Kenshin had finally realized that the purpose behind them was to force him to learn self-control. After that, 'baka deshi' had become almost a joke between them. Until they began to argue over the Revolution and 'baka deshi' held a sting once more.

_When I wanted to leave, I was angry that he denied me a sword. I was hurt that he would not approve my actions._ _I was sure that he was not trying to understand. That **I** was right and the world **could** be changed all at once, not just one problem at a time, as he believed. In my arrogance and stubbornness, I didn't even realize that he was opening_ _his past—his pain-- to me_ _so that I would understand!_

_He saw so clearly what I would become…_

_Trying to clear my conscience by telling them I had no personal feelings against them before I cut them down!_

_Baka! Feeling justified when they ranted or threatened or tried to bribe me before I attacked…Ahou! But once they spoke of families and hopes, as Kiyosato did, I could no longer take a chance that they would become more to me than a name in an envelope. I cut them down before they could make a noise, trying to keep them from becoming **real**. I truly was a murderer…and he had seen it._

And that thought ended his ambivalence. He would be ashamed to see his teacher now, having parted in such a fashion. Full of pride, unwilling to listen, disrespectful of his master, abandoning his commitment to the ryū. But more than the shame, fear would keep him from seeking his master out. Fear that, just as in his dream, Shishou would look at him with disgust and speak the word: "Murderer."

When he came to the path, Kenshin kept his head down and walked past. He had known what he would face when he had chosen his route, but it was even more harrowing than he had feared.

''''''''''''''''''''''''

Not quite a ri past the path to Shishou, Kenshin had turned off the road onto another trail. Before he left this area, he needed to accustom himself to the sakabatou and learn its ways. Since he had been unwilling to face Shishou, he hoped the hermit would let him share his house for a few days in return for chopping wood and hauling water. But then, the man had been so old when Kenshin had met him while roaming the mountain paths that there was a strong likelihood that the house would be empty.

There was a screech above him, and Kenshin stepped back smoothly, hand going to hilt as he looked up. The whole tree began to shake with screams and movement as a troop of snow monkeys swarmed up the branches, voicing their protest._ I forgot that this was part of their territory…_He relaxed and moved ahead quickly, followed by a hail of thrown twigs. This trail was much steeper than the one to Shishou's: he could feel a pull in his calves. Kyōto had foothills, but most of the city was level. And he hadn't needed to use Hiten Mitsurugi ryū for quite some time. His legs were telling him that he better practice more on his jumps. It would be easier here than it had been trying to find time and space in the city.

As he climbed higher, he saw more patches of snow under the pines. Only the ones in the deep shade were still mounded and white; because of yesterday's warmth, most looked like ivory pumice, riddled with holes and pockets. As the water leeched out, it had turned the path to mud. It was slow and dirty progress. The boots were going to have to be cleaned again…

He was beginning to doubt his memory of the path, when he saw that it began to level out. _Nearly there…_The trail kinked one more time, and then the trees thinned. Ahead of him, a narrow log bridge crossed a rushing stream, swollen with snowmelt, and a couple of small buildings faced him across open space with the rest of the mountain looming above. Despite the welcome sun pouring into the clearing, tempting anyone to emerge from the confines of the house into the promising morning, there was no sound, no movement.

"Ohayō gozaimasu! Is there anyone here?" Kenshin called out. He heard the crash of brush, but it was only a single deer fleeing the intrusion. Crossing to the house, he repeated loudly, "Ohayō!" Nothing. Now he could see that the door was open ever so slightly, so he climbed the stone steps and pushed it back. Empty. _Now what shall I do? I can stay perhaps two days with the food I have. It will take me about half a day, at least, to get to the next village. Maybe less if I go down to the river and follow its edge instead of the trails. But if the river's running high, there might not be enough of an edge…_

As he puzzled over his possible choices, he prowled the area. Had the old man died? Or had someone come to get him? If he had died, who had known to come get the body and his belongings? At a sunny corner of the house, he made a pleasant discovery: the remains of a garden. He recognized coltsfoot and onions. With any luck, if he dug, he might find some yams still in the ground. Perhaps he would be able to stay here… He crossed to the other small building, a storage shed. When he opened the door, he sent up a prayer of thanks to any god listening: within the shed, neatly arranged, were buckets, a wooden tub, a shovel and ax, even a chest that might hold extra clothing or bedding. A blessing, indeed! The old man must have gone down the mountain by himself, unable to take anything but the necessities.

Now that his problem was settled, he would pause to eat and then begin to set up his temporary household.

'''''''''''''''''

That evening, Kenshin was remarkably comfortable. The chest had surrendered two more blankets, a summer kimono, and a shower of moth larvae. The blankets had holes, but were still usable. The kimono was stained and old and he had torn it to pieces to use cleaning the house. The buckets were sound, and he now had water for washing and drinking. Some had gone into one of the two small pots he had brought, along with a piece of the dried fish and some of the onions, and was now simmering over the fire pit. He had seen some chickens at the edge of the trees, but they had been loose long enough not to trust him. Still, if he watched carefully, he would find their nests and maybe some eggs.

He leaned against one of the posts of the overhang. It was dark: the moon was rising later, and would be lopsided tonight. Right now there were just the stars. As he watched them, they were occasionally obscured by the dark silhouettes of hunting bats. The sound of the stream lulled him, and the occasional squeak or sleepy chirp from the forest only emphasized the peace of the night. It was tempting to just stay where he was all night, watching the yowatashi boshi make their slow spin around the sky.

But he couldn't let his soup boil dry, so he reached for the ever-present weapon at his side, and stood to go in.

The broth was warm and savory and welcome, though he'd had to set it outside briefly to cool as he washed his hands and face. As he sat and carefully drank from the one bowl he had packed, he stared at the changing shadows on the wall. In basic structure, this was much like the house he had shared with Shishou; sometimes that one had felt crowded with the two of them living in a space meant for one. But they had been remarkably complimentary: Shishou was artistic and Kenshin appreciative, though more physical in his nature; when they were in public, Shishou enjoyed drawing notice with flamboyant behavior, while Kenshin disliked the fact that he so often attracted attention because of his odd appearance and was glad of the distraction his master created. And Shishou liked to talk, while he…

He rinsed his bowl and picked up his blankets and sword and went back out onto the engawa. He wrapped himself up and dropped back down against the post, looking east. _Who does he have to listen to him now? Is there a new boy hearing of the discipline and understanding that can be found in the stroke of a brush? Watching the stars with him and learning their stories? Looking forward to the day when he will be man enough to drink sake with his shishou? Or is the house empty and echoing? _He felt a deep sadness. Which was worse? To think that another had taken his place? Or to surrender his one fixed point—and acknowledge that the time might never come when he would return to the man who had been father and brother to him, because he would not know how to find him.

Kenshin stayed out for a long time, watching the moon rise and the stars turn. Life was so short, but the stars were eternal. His family was gone; now his friends were behind him; he would die too, sometime. But the stars would be there… He finally went in as the night was waning. He was tired enough that perhaps there would be no dreams.

And indeed, when he woke the next morning, there were no lingering visions, though a slight constriction in his chest suggested that perhaps they were only forgotten. He folded his blankets and began the morning ritual of stirring the fire and starting the rice. Sliding open the door, he decided that there was enough light that he might be able to find the chickens, even among the trees.

After checking under the buildings, he widened his search, eventually finding both chicken and nest under a clump of bushes. He returned to the house with two eggs and multiple wounds on his hands and arms. The battle had been hard fought: the hen refused to be scared off and defended her nest with all the valor and fury of one of the Shinsengumi. Her beak was a weapon to be respected, and her wings had landed several heavy blows. But the eggs, poached and eaten with his rice, were well worth the fight.

The morning was as full of sound as the night had been quiet. As Kenshin knelt in the streaming sunshine coming through the doorway, he could hear the carrying shrieks of the monkeys down the hillside as well as the innumerable birds. He was focused on scrubbing the rice pot, but movement at the edge of his vision caught his attention and he turned his head quickly enough to catch sight of a cat as it ran across the yard and vanished into the trees. That explained why there'd been no signs of mice in the buildings. When all was clean and put away, he began to work on himself, stripping down and bathing as best he could using two buckets of tepid water. He stood at the corner of the engawa and poured a small portion of one over himself before soaping—wincing at the chill--and using all the rest to rinse off. He used a blanket to dry himself briskly and then wrapped it around himself to sit in the sun and comb out his hair. After tying it back—remembering to leave it low—, Kenshin went inside and got dressed.

Now that all his preparations had been made, he sat in seiza facing the open doorway, the sun just high enough that he did not need to narrow his eyes. The sakabatou lay across his thighs in its saya. Carefully he placed it before him on the floor, tsuka to the right, and bowed to it in formal greeting. Since the one time he had drawn it on the day that Arai-sensei had tossed it to him, it had remained sheathed. Indeed, he had avoided even touching the tsuka. But now he picked it up with both hands and slowly drew it forth from the saya, which he set to his left. He held the sword before him and studied it. It was slightly heavier than his katana had been, a little longer in the blade. The handle was just a little longer, too, judging by the distance between his hand and the kashiragane. Arai-sensei had made this with a somewhat taller man in mind, but it had not seemed awkward as he carried it. The mune was minimally thicker than normal, probably because now it was on the leading, striking edge and needed to be reinforced. In its oddity, it was still a beautiful piece of work

The grip in his hand was virgin. No one had ever held this sword long enough to leave a pattern of wear in the wrappings. When he had received the daishō, the grip had been worn by a larger hand than his and it had taken a while to alter it to his own. But he and this sakabatou would break each other in. He moved it slowly through one of the kneeling battōjutsu forms, only watching the gleam of the blade for now. Soon, he would get down to business, but now…He enjoyed its beauty, its purity. With this sword, he would not kill; he would only protect.

"Kuiaratame." It had a name.

Rising, he moved down into the yard. For a moment, he simply stood, eyes closed, concentrating on breathing from his abdomen, on centering himself. As he opened his eyes, he began the movements of the kata in slow motion, paying attention to the variations in balance and swing. He would not even try Hiten Mitsurugi or battōjutsu with their perfectly timed moves until he had remastered the basics. There was a tendency to swing a little too far, a little too fast, due to the added weight on the leading edge. The longer hilt helped balance the longer blade, so there was not much trouble with the tip wanting to dip down. He repeated the entire series of kata, making the necessary adjustments. When he was satisfied, he moved through them again, each time more rapidly. And then a final time, at his normal speed.

He had lost track of time, lost entirely in the need to concentrate: to breathe properly, to direct the strain and release of his muscles, to pace the rhythm and flow of the movements streaming into each other. This was what he loved about kenjutsu: the power, the movement, the control, the fluid motion that seemed to create its own reality, its own time. Shishou once, in a jesting mood, had told him that if he did not succeed as a swordsman, he would make a graceful dancer.

The sun was high, but he was not yet ready to stop. Kenshin had not felt this sense of euphoria for years. He went through the entire process again, this time seeking the best grip, the best turn of the wrist, the best swing to use should he ever need to employ the sharpened concave edge. As he paused to let his breathing slow, he became aware of his sweat, and the whisper of breeze that was curling around him. Most of the day had passed, and he still had water to draw and laundry to do.

'''''''''''''''

Kenshin had placed the tub on the engawa so he would not have to kneel in the dirt and mud as he scrubbed. Plunging his arms in, he began on his fundoshi. As he squeezed the water through the fabric, he remembered his revulsion when Shishou made him do laundry just days after he'd arrived:

" But this is women's work!"

His master had just stared down at him from his considerable height and remarked dryly, " I hope your powers of observation improve. Do you **see** any women here?" Then narrowing his eyes in a glare that made Kenshin shrink, he asked, "And **who** do you think washed them **before** youcame?" Looking up at the intimidating man with the muscular physique standing before him, he had swallowed any further protests.

In his days as an assassin, it had become an obsession. If he could remove the dirt and blood, perhaps the doubts and the guilt would disappear, too. Futile, of course. Even when they were invisible to others, he was always conscious of the stains, the smell…But today? Today there was no blood, no new guilt. He would think of the pleasure he'd felt that morning, moving through the sunlight instead of the shadows. Of the relief that he did not have to give up the sword entirely, and his satisfaction in the one given him.

But that led to other concerns…He wrung out the underwear and dropped them into one of the buckets to wait until rinsing. _I can't kill quickly with the sakabatou, but if I am not careful, it could still cause death. _Pulling out the kimonos, he shoved them under the water. _I cannot use straight thrusts. I must be sure not to strike at the stomach or abdomen; aim for bones. But I can't extend myself too far there, either, or I'll just go through the bones and still hit organs. _In his consternation, he scrubbed so vigorously that the water sloshed onto his hakama. Startled, he eased off, but continued his train of thought._ I can't slow down, but if I don't put as much strength into the swing…better yet, if I keep them at the outer edge of my strike zone, perhaps I can swing normally, but there will be less contact. _That seemed like a workable possibility. He wrung out the kimonos and started on the hakama._ But the wounds…I've seen how dull blades tear. And I've seen the pain they cause…_Try though he might, he could find no solution._ Better to be in pain, or scarred, than dead. Most wounds heal and most scars fade._ He was not happy with the decision, but it was the best he could do. The hakama landed in the bucket with more force than necessary, and he abruptly tipped out the tub. Time to fetch water for rinsing.

The next morning, after his rice, Kenshin stepped out into a breezy yard. All night his mind had worried at the problem of determining how hard to make his swing. He'd never had to consider that before: you just struck as hard and as fast as you could while maintaining proper form. What could he use to practice? All the animals he'd seen were too small for their bones to resemble a human's. And he was not going to hunt bear with a sakabatou or an ax. Nor would he kill something he could not eat. The only thing available was wood. It wouldn't be very accurate, but it might give him a feeling for the adjustments needed.

He gathered up quite a few branches of varying sizes, trying to find ones neither too brittle nor too green. As he'd searched, he'd been chased and scolded by the chicken for getting too near, and he had caught several fleeting glimpses of the cat as it slunk under the bushes. He finally dumped his selection next to the shed and picked out a stick that approximated the size of a rib. He rolled it up in a square of cloth and strapped it to the trunk of the tree whose branches brushed the shed's roof. Retreating to his normal distance from an opponent, he tried a simple lunging backhand only slightly less powerful than normal. No good. Though the cloth had absorbed the blow without tearing, he had both broken the stick, and left a dent in the trunk. All right, try again…This time he swung too softly and barely made a dent. Again…

Once he was able to consistently break the branch without marking the tree, he tried a forward slash, finding the right amount of effort much more quickly. He would have to find an alternate way to work on downward swings. And all of this would have to be tried again once he began working into Hiten Mitsurugi and battōjutsu. He only hoped that all of this would work when he had to deal with the speed of the other person's movements as well.

Kenshin walked back over to the pile of wood as the wind whipped his hair into his eyes. He blinked from the sting and looked up towards the sky, only to have his gaze arrested by the stare of the phantom cat, who had evidently been watching him from the roof of the shed. Past its head, he could see a ragged line of clouds sliding past the top of the mountain. A wind from the north was not a good sign. He would cover his hair and try placing the sticks on one of the lowest branches of the tree by the shed for the downward stroke. He might not have much time before the weather changed. Paying no more attention to the cat, he walked towards the house.

He had not been able to practice much longer. With the wind pushing them, the sky had soon begun to fill with silver-gray clouds that were now spreading and flattening. In the dimming sunlight they had the peculiar shine that usually presaged snow. At this height on the mountain, if snow was imminent he needed to make preparations. So he gathered up all the branches he'd been using and made a neat stack of them in one corner of the hut and went out to gather more.

He was trying to prepare for the worst. When he'd lived up here before, most snowfall had not been very heavy. But he could remember a few storms that had lasted for days. He and Shishou could go out only briefly and even then had to stay close to the house. By the time they were freed, it was a wonder they had not driven each other mad. He told himself that at least **that** would not be a problem as he set the tub in another corner and filled it with water he'd drawn from the stream.

The first flakes were drifting down when he began digging in the garden. There were, in fact, yams still in the ground. Not very big, but edible. He cut a large portion of the herbs and pulled out most of the onions, too. All were shaken or brushed off and taken into the house. He surveyed his work and decided that he was as prepared as he could be with his limited resources. He went to slide the door shut. As he watched the already clumping flakes blasted apart by a fierce gust of wind that howled at the corner, he gave a thought to the chickens and cat, but they would have to fend for themselves. He slid the door closed, and sealed himself in.

The first night and most of the first day went fairly well. Kenshin cooked, and sharpened his tanto. He read a few haiku from Katsura's book. He mended some of the holes in the blankets (congratulating himself on the small size of his stitches and remembering the number of scathing remarks Shishou had made when teaching him). He ate no mid-day meal because he had not done enough to be hungry. He checked for spiders in the wood. He kept the room just warm enough so the wood would last. By late afternoon, his mind told him it should be the hour of the Sheep, but the darkness and lethargy of his body told him it was night. At last he gave in and leaned against the wall to doze.

He did not sleep well. No dreams this time; he did not sleep long enough to dream. He found himself waking frequently. He looked at the fire to judge the time by how far it had burned down, only to see little change. The second night seemed to last forever. It was his bladder that told him it was morning: when he carefully slid open the door and stepped outside, all was still dark, with only the odd glow that shines from snow even when there is no moon to reflect. The light from the fire behind him was swallowed up. The wind was gone, but the snow was still falling heavily. There was no sound. Even the stream seemed to have been rendered mute. He could acknowledge its beauty, but he hoped it would end very soon.

Turning, Kenshin re-entered the house and slid the door tightly shut before resuming his place before the fire with a sigh. He was tired, but wide awake. And there was **nothing** to do. No laundry, no mending; he had enough wood and water for another day at least. He'd packed no writing supplies. There was his book, but even reading slowly and pondering the words would not make it last the day. He knew what he had packed, but went through his belongings again to see if he could find anything useful. He pulled out his money and recounted it, then idly began stacking and restacking the pieces into different designs.

Something across the room shifted, and Kenshin's head snapped up. A pair of impassive eyes stared back at him: the cat was settled next to the wood, paws tucked to chest. This was the first time he'd been able to see much of it. It was nearly all white, only a small patch of black at the top of its head, some brown by the stubby tail. Obviously, it had waited its chance and slipped in when he had been outside.

"Oi, neko-chan, will you come to me?" He held out his hand, but the only response he got was an ear turned in his direction. He rose slowly and began to move toward it, but it flattened its ears and hissed at him until he retreated back to the fire.

"You're not very friendly, are you?" The cat gave him a look that reminded him of Shishou.

"We may be together a while. You should at least try to be social." Kenshin winced to hear the words come out of his mouth. _How many times has something like that been said to me? _

He decided to boil some more of the fish; perhaps the cat was hungry. As he scooped water into the pan and sliced the fish, he made a mental note that it was nearly gone. He built up the fire a little, and found himself talking…

"It's very odd. For several years now, I've usually preferred to be by myself. But the longest that I have ever had time to myself--in my whole life--was perhaps a day, rarely more than that. And I always had something that needed to be done. But now I've been completely alone for most of four days: no shop people, no people passing on the street, no one on the other side of the wall of my row house. No one. And I'm finding that I miss that: other faces, other voices."

He looked at the cat to see if it was listening, feeling foolish as he did so. He was embarrassed to have spoken his feelings aloud, even to a cat. These were things best kept to one's self. He was silent after that.

When the broth was ready, he poured some into his bowl and set it aside to cool while he cut up the coltsfoot and onions into what was left in the pan. He took the pan for himself and swirled the liquid gently as he watched to see if the cat would come to the bowl. It sat up, but made no further move. Slowly drinking the soup, he contemplated the change in himself. _It will still be a long day. I will still find it tedious. But I no longer feel so unsettled. Because of a cat?_

He drank his soup and then got up to move the bowl nearer to the cat, who still hissed, but no more. He walked away, over to the door and opened it slightly. Still snowing, though the clouds did not have such a heavy look. He slid the door closed and went over to straighten out his belongings, scattered where he'd left them. Carefully picking up the money, he put it back in the bag and added it to the stack. He picked up the book and—looking once more at the cat, who was now drinking the broth—began to read.

He came awake all at once, surprised that he had dozed off. His dream had been no horror this time. It was a simple dream, a gentle one that left him melancholy. Nothing much: just him and Tomoe, walking down the road together, talking. When had they **ever** just talked?

Kenshin rose again, went to the door again. The cat watched him through slitted eyes. This time the snow was falling much more slowly and the clouds were broken, the day a little brighter. He pushed the door wide, letting the cold air in. The shock of it made him feel more alert, ready to move out of the stuffy warmth of the house. He grabbed his boots and pulled them on. He left the door open and jumped off the engawa into snow that came up to his shin and fell into his boots. He just stood for a moment and breathed in the cold air that burned the inside of his nose as the snow frosted his red hair. And then he leaped as high as he could, straight up into the air, and came down running, across the clearing and back several times. The height of the snow slowed him, and the run was awkward with high knees and odd gait, but it felt good to move! It didn't take long before his feet were wet and cold, and his fingers pink and tingling. He knew he had to go in and began slogging back. The cat was under the house, but when it saw him coming, bounded up the steps and ran into the hut.

_It would be good to have tea. I'll buy some the next chance I get._ His hair was drying and his fingers and toes were coming back to their normal color. He felt much more relaxed as he leaned against the wall. With any luck, tomorrow would be clear. He sipped at the water he had heated and thought about his dream.

_I don't think we were ever that comfortable together. Maybe our last night… But for most of our time together we just shared space. After the first shock, her presence eased something inside me…and she seemed to want to be with me. But we seldom spoke and rarely did anything together. I never knew what she was thinking. It was like…_Kenshin looked over at the cat across the room that stared back into his eyes. He felt the hairs on his neck prickle._ She called herself a lost cat…..No, that's foolish…_He knelt before the fire to wash the few things he'd used. _Truly, I think we grew to love each other's silence and need. We were so much alike…_

'''''''''''''''

The last two days had been clear and quite warm. The storm could have been a figment of his imagination except for the mud and increasingly desiccated lumps of snow that spotted the clearing. Back under the pines, there was still a layer of white, but the yard was nearly clear. He spent quite a bit of time outside, often just sitting on the engawa. He'd stolen a few eggs and caught a fish in a pool upstream. His boots were perpetually damp and muddy and his hakama was filthy: he had to take them both off before he went inside. The cat continued to follow him and share space with him—at a distance. He hoped that one more warm day would firm the ground up enough that he could practice again. He had been here a week and was ready to move on.

''''''''''''''''''''

It was still muddy, but firm. And slightly sticky rather than slippery._ I don't have to move so much with the battōjutsu attacks. I'll work on them this morning and see if the ground is better for the rest of Hiten Mitsurugi this afternoon._ He had his geta on this morning: better than boots, not as good as straw zori. He found the driest spot he could and sat down. He was known for his standing slash, but he had mastered all the positions: standing, sitting, kneeling. That was what truly made him Battōsai.

With his first draw, he could see a serious problem. He had been taught to pull up as he drew, to reduce the friction of the mune against the saya and speed the unsheathing and resultant swing. With the blade reversed, by pulling up, he was actually slowing his draw. He began to push down instead, but had to begin an upward wrist motion at the very moment that the tip emerged, or else the blade dropped almost an inch and spoiled the strike. This took the most concentration of any of the changes he had made so far, and he repeated it over and over until his wrist began to ache. He paused to let it rest, but continued to replay the move in his mind. When he began again, it seemed to work more smoothly. He was finally satisfied enough to continue, though he knew it was not yet up to speed. That would come with continued practice.

Lunch was shredded greens and he wished he had some vinegar. But he could not carry a full kitchen in his pack, so he must learn to do without. The egg would have been better with some pepper, and **that **he might make room for. He looked for the cat, to share his egg, but it had temporarily vanished. He had seen it earlier by the bushes, stalking something.

The kata for Hiten Mitsurugi followed all the basic forms for the attacks, though some had been left out: the horizontal spin of Ryūkansen Tsumuji, the ground-breaking Dou Ryū Sen. As he moved through the series, Kenshin incorporated the adjustments to his swing that he had worked out days before. He also inserted two extra forms, adding repetitions of Ryūtsuisen Zan and Ryūshousen, reversing the sword as he moved to replace the thrust with a blow from the kashiragane, wondering even as he did so if this was one more way in which he was dishonoring the ryū and his Shishou.

He was pleased to discover that he was becoming accustomed enough to the eccentricities of his sword that the changes he had to make came much more naturally. Even the grip, after so many hours of use, now seemed to welcome his hand. Arai-sensei had scorned the sword as a failure, but for Kenshin, it was hope and opportunity.

He would have to wash again. Tomorrow the ground should be dry, so what he cleaned would stay clean now. Before, it had seemed a waste of effort. To end his practice, he decided to do Ryūtsuisen Zan one last time. He was not sure he would ever use it, even using the hilt instead: the force seemed too great. He sprang to the shed roof, intending to leap from there, but as his foot touched the wood, he felt it bend and splinter beneath him, his foot disappearing into the jagged hole. He immediately let the sakabatou fall to the ground. With his hands free, he was able to catch himself and spread out his weight before his leg was completely through. He glanced quickly around, and then lay back, shaking his head at the vanity of the reflex. _And who is there here that's going to see me fall through the roof like an idiot?...I hope there's something I can use to patch this hole._ He withdrew his leg carefully, grateful that he only had several fine scratches to show for the mishap. It was a good way to break a limb or get killed in a fight. He should have realized there was a possibility that the snow had weakened it; he wasn't in Kyōto with its multitude of tiled roofs and sturdy walls. He jumped down and went over to pick up the sakabatou. Fortunately, it had landed in a dry spot and would not need much cleaning.

_I better bathe before I do anything else. I stink. And it will clean the scratches. _He moved towards the house to get the buckets. The cat was sitting outside the door, cleaning its face and looking pleased. _I wonder how long it's been there?_

On his way to the stream, Kenshin found feathers: chicken feathers. On his way back, he checked, but his adversary was still strutting not far from her bush.

He felt much better once he had clean clothes and a clean self. He brushed the dried mud off the tsuka and wiped the blade while waiting for the rice to cook. Tonight he would finish the rest of the daikon, which was getting limp, and have a roasted yam. The cat, if it had killed a chicken, did not need to share **his** dinner.

After the continuous effort of the last day, he felt the pleasant lethargy of tired muscles as he leaned against the post. The moon was a crescent tonight. _I need to fix the roof tomorrow. And boil some eggs. Pull a few more onions. I don't know how much I'll be able to buy in Kameoka. Practice some more. Then I can leave the next day if the sky stays clear_. He watched thebats, wondering what they found to eat with so many of the bugs gone. The cat walked past him into the house. He got up and followed it; it was time to sleep.

He forced himself through the snow, the taste of his own blood thick in his mouth. He leaned and spat, staggering as he did so. With the damage to his ears and eyes, his balance was off as well. He could not tell where he was going, but was driven forwards by fury and desperation, his thoughts churning in chaos. _Why did she…? Who are these…? WHERE IS SHE? _As he supported himself against the tree, he swung his head like a wounded animal, frantic to catch some hint of where he was and if anyone was near. He could see only light and vague shadows. Ahead of him seemed all light…was he out of the trees? As he advanced, there was a shift in the light to his right, a movement, accompanied by an indistinguishable rumble. Another adversary? Turning to the shadow, he made his challenge: "I am taking Tomoe back."

More rumbling, but no movement. Was he mistaken? Had he spoken to a tree? He strained his faulty senses, in vain. As he paused, there was motion and he was gripped by a vise around his neck and felt a wrenching pain. His mouth filled with blood again and he gagged as he was flung to the ground. But as he fell, he swung his katana and knew he'd etched a shallow score. He pulled himself to his feet, spraddle-legged, and listened for the rumble that he now knew was a voice. He was breathing hard, the air hurting his lungs. He could feel the cold-thickened blood oozing from his wounds and was all too aware of his weakness. His mind lost focus—_Tomoe!—_and he was pummeled by multiple blows striking his wounds. He swung and missed: the shadow was no longer there, but he was staggered by a strike to his legs. He swung again, knowing that he was being taunted for his efforts, his weakness. Where was his speed, his accuracy? _I cannot let him win! I must protect Tomoe!_

He spoke to his unseen assailant, buying seconds to gather his strength, his will: " I have no chance of winning…that may be true…" And he finished the thought in his mind as he leapt forward with a thunderous cry, _but I will take him with me. I'm sorry, Tomoe, live on…_

He felt his blade sink into flesh and cut through bone, and as he bore down harder into his swing, he could see black before his eyes and feel hair brush his nose. There was the scent of…hakubaikō!

There was a solid thump against his hip, and warmth. He came alert immediately, his heart still racing with the desperation and futility of the dream. There was no threat, but the warmth remained. He looked down and found the cat curled next to him. He slowly eased. This was a familiar dream; it always came at least once when snow fell. He had actually been expecting it each night. There would be variations, but it always ended the same. He was grateful to the cat for waking him up.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Kenshin stood in the doorway and looked out at the yard. Behind him the house was clean, the fire pit cleared. He had brought in the chest from the shed-- not trusting his repairs to the roof--and had placed the old blankets back inside. He had left a little of everything in the garden. Some other wanderer might need the blessing of this house's shelter.

He had spent the morning before hacking some rough slabs from a thick branch with the ax. The mended hole was ugly and of dubious efficacy. But with only a knife and an ax, nothing better could be done. He moved the tools, tub, and buckets to the opposite side of the shed.

His foraging had yielded a clump of enoki from the side of a log still covered with snow, and the banks of the stream had provided some more edible greens. He had made a last raid on the nest, almost regretting the loss of the challenge. All was wrapped and bundled with the rest of his possessions, once again slung across his back.

His sakabatou was at his waist, familiar now. He would hesitate to match himself against either of the two captains of the Shinsengumi that he had fought: his technique was still a little rough. But it was improving daily, and would still surpass most of the swordsmen he'd met. He had no more reason to stay.

But he paused a moment more, looking for the cat. It was not any friendlier than it had been before his dream; when he'd reached down to stroke it that night, it had given him a warning nip and growled. Yesterday it had flickered in and out of his sight as he went about his business. Today he had not seen it at all.

Kenshin stepped out and slid the door tightly shut. He needed to leave. Reluctantly, he walked down the steps and out across the clearing. When he got to the footbridge, he paused and looked back. From here, he could see the cat, high up in the tree by the shed. It must have been there, watching him, the whole time. As **he** watched, it ran down the tree and into the bushes.


	3. Chapter 3 Nishiwaki

**Kenshin and Tomoe, and the basic scene in the forest belong to the people that created and marketed them: Watsuki, et al. I am merely embroidering on their fabric (for no profit, of course).**

OK, vocabulary: Dō itashimashite.—You're welcome.

Kiheitai—the fighting group that Takasuge created

Sanyodo—one of the five secondary roads, ran along the coast of the Inland Sea

'pour ---- into the water'---Forget about something, put it behind you

Shitsurei itashimasu.—I'm about to be rude. Used when approaching a stranger with a request.

O-negai shimasu.---I beg of you

Gaikokujin—person from a foreign country (with no bad connotations)

Oniisan—elder brother

Hajimemashite---said when meeting someone for the first time

yuzu---small citrus fruit

Itadakimasu---Thank you for letting me receive this (said before a meal)

Nihonjin---a Japanese person

Tokonoma—an alcove holding a scroll and usually a vase of flowers

Kangun—the victorious, or legitimate, army

Inai Ba---a version of peek-a-boo

Janken---a hand game (rock, paper, scissors)

The man Kenshin refers to when he speaks to Kanaye is Nakaoka Shintaro, a friend of Sakamoto Ryoma. They were both attacked at the same time. Ryoma died in minutes, Shintaro after two days. The line attributed to him is from Ryoma: Portrait of a Renaissance Samurai by Romulus Hillsborough

If anyone is interested, I've listed some very interesting background reading on my profile page.

''''''''''''''''

**Ch. 3 Nishiwaki**

Nishiwaki had been a mixed blessing. Kenshin had arrived at its end of the narrow green valley dirty and in need of more supplies. He had been thinking hopefully of a hot bath and was cheered at his first glimpse of the town. It looked like it would be big enough to provide for both his needs and his hopes. He was also relieved that he had chosen the right valley to follow: a 10 year old memory had not played him false. When he had gone back to Chōshū with the other recruits to join the Kiheitai, they had followed the Sanyodo, as had he and Katsura as they returned to Kyōto. He had only traveled **this** road once before, with the slavers; this was the place where Kasumi, Sakura, and Akane had come into his life. Those women had been so kind…he looked forward to a brief interlude of comfort and, perhaps, welcome.

The farms that followed the river valley gradually merged into clustered houses. All was clean and neat, attractive in appearance, the few people visible busy about their daily routines. The houses drew closer together and gave way to shops as he neared the crossroads. And there, where the people gathered to shop and visit, the stares and the whispers began. How he hated it! Since Kameoka he had seen almost no one and, though cool, it had been sunny, so he had neglected to cover his hair. And he needed to shave.. .Now he was reaping the consequences. Disappointed, he kept his head up and his stride firm and ignored the watchers as he looked for the business he needed.

When he could not find it after scanning all the signs, Kenshin clenched his teeth and hissed with dismay. Stiff with reluctance, he approached a woman passing near and bowed slightly.

"Please forgive my rudeness in interrupting your errand." The woman looked at him with eyes wide with startlement and uncertainty, neglecting to return his bow. "Is there an apothecary in this town?" Her head jerked in a brief nod. "I would be most grateful if you would give me directions to his shop."

Still staring at him (A_s though I were a trained animal…It talks!)_, she waved a hand to the right. "The shop is on that block, on the next street over." Kenshin bowed again, "Dōmo arigatō gozaimasu." This time she managed a bow in return, "Dō itashimashite." As he continued on to the corner, he glimpsed her scurrying over to another woman and talking rapidly.

The apothecary had not been too bad. After his first comprehensive glance and raised eyebrows, he had been more interested in the herbs that Kenshin had brought down from the mountains than in the bearer. The price Kenshin had received for them had paid for his bath and most of his meal.

The bath had been excellent. He would never again take hot water for granted: it had been almost 3 weeks since he had had anything but cold water to use for bathing. He had shaved off the annoying sparse red patches that made his face look blotchy. He had soaked until his hands and feet looked like pickled plums. He felt relaxed and refused to think about why he had been the only one in the bath.

Reality had forcibly intruded on him as he sat at the back of the inn, eating. He kept his head down so that he would not have to see the furtive glances: the lowered voices were bad enough. Against them, two men's strident voices were harsh:

"We do not want any filthy barbarians here. You should all be killed or driven out!"

"You gaijin are not supposed to leave the settlements! And you dare to dress as a civilized person!"

Kenshin looked at them from beneath the veil of his bangs. They were samurai of medium height, medium build, dressed not much better than himself, standing in the middle of the room facing him. He could feel their belligerence. He did not want to fight-- thought that perhaps he would not have to…He breathed deeply and rose slowly with the sakabatou. He was far enough away that he would not have to look **up** at them. He glared at them with cold, narrowed eyes and spoke with annoyance, **willing** them to back down.

"I am no gaijin. I am Chōshū samurai."

Their mouths hung open with shock at being addressed fluently in their own language. With his head up, they could see that indeed he appeared Japanese. They could also see the large scar on his face and the threat in his eyes. And he held the katana of a samurai with assurance… With red hair and light eyes, was he some demon?

The men had quickly apologized and left, but Kenshin had lost his appetite and left also, with the innkeeper bowing and apologizing and pressing him to take the remains of his meal with him. He did, finally, common sense telling him not to waste the money or the food. He had gone out to the market and purchased his supplies as quickly as possible. Then he left the town. He would continue along the highway until dark and sleep wherever he was; what was left of his midday meal would be his dinner.

So this morning he had awakened with frost on his blankets, beneath trees, as usual, instead of in a warm room. _Foolishness, to let it affect me like that. Haven't I learned anything these last years? Why did I expect it to be different away from the city? If anything, these people will stare more, be more suspicious, because they are less sophisticated. I cannot continue to walk away when it bothers me or I will be hungry and cold with great frequency. I must just pour my displeasure into the water and continue on…_ He left his hair uncovered.

Kenshin was trailing at the back of a group of travelers moving west on the road. At the back, he did not attract attention. And he could be prepared for any trouble that may occur… He felt the ticklish sensation of eyes watching and looked up through his hair. Several paces ahead, a little girl was staring at him over the shoulder of her brother. A memory of carrying Aiko in the same fashion brushed his mind: her face was vague now, but the feel of the pleasant warmth of her weight and the clasp of her arms around his neck remained clear. He raised his head and smiled at the little girl, who quickly hid her eyes in her brother's neck.

It became a game: she would raise her head, he would smile, and she would hide again. It was cloudy today, and the breeze was cool, and he had a long way to go, but he was enjoying himself.

''''''

Midori had been talking to her younger son when the man entered the road behind them. With her head turned to the side, she had been able to see his odd appearance for herself without obviously staring. She had heard rumors of him last night at the inn: a samurai who had hair like the rising sun and eyes that could see right through you, like a demon. It frightened her that he should come out of the trees like that, and follow behind them. Would he attack? The people on this road were farmers and common people, none had swords…how would they protect themselves?

And now, Kanae seemed fascinated. Yosuke was ignoring her bobbing, used to her silliness. But what if her stares offended the samurai? Would he cut them down? She turned her head as though to speak again to her son, trying to see what the samurai was doing. He was watching them, a faint smile on his face, and when Kanae popped up once again, he smiled more broadly and… made a face! Kanae giggled and Midori stopped in amazement, turning slightly towards the samurai. The amusement immediately left his face and he stopped too, meeting her eyes levelly. He was so young! Probably no more than 16…and yet, with such a look in his eyes…and such a scar…! This was the demon?

Yosuke turned to see what had happened to his mother and saw the samurai facing her, hand casually resting on the hilt of his katana. What had happened? He began to go back, but Okāsan smiled and bowed, and after a second's pause the samurai bowed back. All seemed to be well. When Okāsan came level with him once again, he asked, "What happened?" But she just smiled and replied, "Nothing."

'''''''

He had lost the little girl as a playmate: she had been passed to the older brother walking ahead and fell asleep against his back. But the younger boy was curious: he kept glancing over his shoulder, trying to appear as though he were looking at something else. Kenshin was amused. There had been times when he had done exactly the same thing. Usually when he was interested in something Shishou was doing, but had been told to mind his own business. Had he been so transparent? Probably. Shishou never missed anything… He had watched the boy's obvious inquiry as his mother caught up, and her short answer. Had he been the boy, his mind would have been racing with possible explanations. _I wonder if he will do anything to scratch the itch…_

It was nearly time for the midday meal. He had come down to the road rather late in the morning: to warm himself up, he had spent quite a bit of time working on battōjutsu ( The draw was steadily improving. He might never be as fast as he had been, but the difference would be minute: only the time taken by the imperceptible lift of his wrist.). He was not really hungry yet; it would be easy to keep going while the others ate. But the trees and undergrowth along the road were often dense on the mountain side-- good cover for bandits—and there was not a visible weapon amongst the others. He would stay with them.

He selected a tree to block some of the breeze and settled himself beneath it. Most of the others chose spots at some distance from him, but the little family was sitting not too far away. The girl--maybe 2? 3?-- was waking with tousled hair and heavy eyes while the younger boy ranged in orbit around his mother and older brother as the food was set out from the basket the woman had carried. Kenshin set his sword across his lap, tucked his hands into his sleeves and leaned his head back, closing his eyes most of the way. He noticed that with each erratic pass, the boy would swing a little nearer to him. He was finally drawn back to the meal by his mother, and Kenshin turned his attention to their surroundings: listening, watching, feeling for threats. All seemed safe and calm. Movement to his side caught his attention, and he found the woman rising. She moved towards him, holding something in a cloth in her hands, and knelt next to him, bowing low.

"Shitsurei itashimasu, Samurai-sama. My name is Midori. Forgive this unworthy person for intruding on your rest, but we ask that you allow us to share our meal. It is nothing worthy of note, but we would be gratified if you would accept it. O-negai shimasu." She set her offering on the ground in front of him. It was more than he usually ate midday: onegiri, a baked yam, some cold fried tofu. He looked back up at her and bowed in return, hoping to cover his flush at her form of address, as well as the motherly concern in her eyes.

"Hajimemashite. I am Kenshin… It looks very good, and I am sure that the flavor will be even better because of the kindness in the thought. Itadakimasu. May I please share with you also?" Kenshin turned to his bundle and opened it, pulling out his two remaining yuzu and handing them to her. Midori looked as though she was about to protest, but wisely refrained and merely answered, "Dōmo arigatou gozaimasu," before bowing once again to rise and return to her family.

Kenshin began to eat, aware that Midori's eyes kept straying to him. He could feel the worry radiating from her. It made him feel odd to think that she seemed to be interested in his well-being.

The younger boy was up and moving again in an apparently aimless path that just happened to be leading him in Kenshin's direction. Kenshin decided to put him out of his misery and gestured for him to come over. The boy's eyes widened and then shifted towards his mother, who frowned slightly, but said nothing. Kenshin continued to eat and waited to see what he would do. Hesitantly approaching, he bowed jerkily and stood, trying not to fidget under Kenshin's gaze.

"Sit." The boy collapsed to the ground in front of him. "Tell me your name."

After several swallows, the answer was gasped out, "Yosuke."

"Hajimemashite. I'm Kenshin… Now, ask your questions." The child's jaw dropped and his eyes got big with wonder. _Now he will tell everyone that I can read minds…What have I done?...**Why** am I doing this?_

"**Are** you a samurai?"

"Hai."

Yosuke frowned, "You only have one sword," he pointed out.

"One is enough."

The boy's frown deepened at the brevity of the answer, and he chewed on his lip in thought. Kenshin finished his meal and looked up at the sky as he waited, through the branches beginning to rasp together in the strengthening wind. The clouds were increasing. Yosuke looked towards the road, away from Kenshin, and asked with great nonchalance, "Why is your hair that color?"

As simple as that. No fear. No suspicion. Just curiosity. Children were so much easier to deal with. And if he answered this boy now, by evening every one in the traveling group would probably know what had been said and they might relax and stop the stares that had begun the moment he sat down.

"I don't really know. When I asked my father that, he told me that our family history says that sometime in the days of Hideyori or Ieyasu, there were many gaikokujin in the place we lived. One somehow entered our family. We no longer knew if it was a man or a woman, if they were adopted or married, why the person was accepted. But ever since, once in long while, a child is born with hair like mine. And eyes that are not brown. I am Nihonjin, even if I do not look like it."

Kenshin watched as Yosuke thought it over… They would need to leave soon: the temperature was starting to drop. He looked over towards Midori; she was cleaning up while speaking earnestly to the other son. His little friend was hopping about making squeaking noises and getting in her mother's way.

"It's funny—that your family would take in a gaijin. I heard Otōsan talking to Niisan, and he said a big reason for the war now was that the rebels wanted to get rid of all of them."

Kenshin looked down at his hands, resting on the sakabatou. "Many do. Some just hate the Bakufu and believe things will be better if it is gone."

The boy looked dubious, "Ano….Okāsan says-" His thought was not finished, for his mother called and he hurriedly rose, pausing only long enough for a quick bow before returning to his family. All around, people were rising and gathering their belongs, ready to return to the road. Kenshin rose slowly and slid the sakabatou into his obi. Thoughtfully he bent and picked up his bundle, slinging it onto his back. _Rebels…Are they supporters of the Shogunate then? If they knew…_

He folded the napkin and ran his hand over the material as it lay in his hand. She had fed him…

"Gochisosama." Kenshin returned the cloth and thanked her, but said no more, starting back to the road by himself. Once away from the trees, the wind was much stronger, whipping his hair into his eyes and blowing chill down the neck of his hanten. He pulled a cloth from his kimono to tie around his head and fastened the hanten tightly. Worse weather was certainly coming and he did not know how far it was to the next town. There would be farms all along the way, but who could say they would be willing to take in a stranger with an appearance such as his if he should need shelter? _Best to move quickly and try to reach a town. These trees are thick enough, if I have to, I can build a brush shelter._

The family had come down to the road just a little ahead of him. He hoped that they would not get caught in bad weather. Kenshin sat down to remove his geta and tabi so that he would be able to run more easily, stuffing them in his roll. After a moment's thought, he pulled out the extra blanket and draped it over his shoulders. A faint shadow fell over him and he looked up to find the oldest son near with the family watching. Before he could stand, the man bowed and began to speak.

"It will probably start to snow within the hour. There is not another town for at least 10 ri. There is a village about 4 ri ahead, but the inn there is not the kind someone of your class should stay in. I offer you such comfort as we may provide in our common state. Please give us the honor of your presence in our home."

Kenshin wanted to wince at the innocent irony of the words. His class? He had been born in a house just one step up from a dirt-floored hut; his clothes were worse than the man speaking to him; he was, very possibly, an enemy to them. He was about to demur, but Yosuke's eager expression caught Kenshin's eye and the little girl smiled at him as she patted her brother's face for attention. A family…and they were kind. And he needed a place to stay…but he was still surprised to hear himself agree.

'''''''''''

The tabi and geta went back on, for he would not be running. They made the best time they could, slowed by Midori's shortened steps in her kimono and the need to carry the little girl. The snow did begin to fall, from clouds a metallic grey. Once the wind had piled them up, it had died, leaving the weight of the clouds to bear down in early twilight. There was little conversation, though Kenshin now knew all their names, and that they were returning from Ōsaka, where the father had remained. There had been a brief pause to wrap a shivering Kanae in his extra blanket and argue civilly over whether or not he should take a turn carrying her. He had won, though he received the distinct impression that Midori felt she was humoring him. He suspected that she had made the common mistake of thinking him younger than he was.

He looked down at Kanae in his arms, only a little bit of her face visible under the covers. The solid, warm weight of her was bittersweet. The faded light and the warmth of the blanket had lulled her into sleep, her eyelids twitching with dreams.He hoped they would arrive soon: the snow was coming down heavier and he was uneasy about the children.

"We're nearly there. That's it up ahead." Kichi pointed with his chin, his hands full of his younger brother, who had begun slowing down. He set the boy back on his feet. "You can make it the rest of the way. An eight year old boy should not need to be carried."

Kenshin could see a dark shape ahead on the left, but the heavy snow obscured any details. It was fortunate they were so close: any longer and it would have been hard to follow the road. As it was, the fresh snow stuck to their geta and made walking hard as unexpected clumps fell off and left them unbalanced. A wooden wall appeared, and it was with relief that they followed it to the gate. The fact that there had been a wall, and a gate, prepared Kenshin somewhat for the house. He had already guessed from their clothing that they were no simple farmers, but to find such a house so far from anything…

To his left a delicate stick fence and another gate led to a garden now indistinct with snow. To his right, a stone lantern stood chest-high before the tiled-roof house. Farther away stood a smaller building where a light could be seen. As they carefully made their way up the stone steps, a man emerged from the other building, drawn by the creaking of the gate. Kichi slid open the door and turned to Kenshin, bowing, "Welcome to our home. We are honored to have you here."

Awkward with sleeping girl, Kenshin returned the bow," I am grateful to be here." Once he had seen Kenshin and his family in, Kichi went back out to meet the approaching man. Midori slid the door closed behind him and hastened over to Kenshin to relieve him of his burden, disappearing briefly to set the sleeping girl down in another room and return. She bustled about, hanging coats and straightening shoes as they were removed, keeping everything in the small entrance tidy, and finally ushering everyone into the main room. Kichi returned and lit the brazier and they all settled at the large table, Kenshin finding himself seated before the tokonoma. He felt the urge to excuse himself and move: this was the place Katsura sat whenever they went anywhere; **his** place was off to the side, or in a corner, inconspicuous.

"I told Yoshi to start heating the bath."

"Oh, that is very good. We all need to get warm. I'll go in the kitchen and make some tea. I was glad to see that he remembered to put the shutters up. We've been gone so much longer than planned…" Midori left and silence fell on the room, broken only by a hastily stifled yawn from Yosuke. _I don't know what to say. I have never been anyone's guest—only Katsura's, and we only ever talk about the war or books! What do I say?_ Kichi began to speak:

"The weather this winter has been very strange. It was so warm, and now heavy snows…I'm glad that this year we won't have to worry about how the weather will affect the rice harvest."

He was saved! Weather and rice he could talk about. As it happened, he did not even have to say much about them.

"It has been odd. Especially since this is usually the coldest month. If it continues so unusual, it will indeed be a worry. But not one of yours?"

"Hai. We are moving to Ōsaka. We have only come home to finish business and pack up our belongings. We have been farmers, but my father has always been good with his hands. For several years now, he has earned quite a bit as a carpenter and we've been able to use part of the money to hire people to work the fields. We've done very well here, but now my grandfather's woodworking business is doing well enough that there is room for my father to join him and my uncle, so we are moving." At that point, Midori came back into the room with a ceramic pot full of coals and a couple of quilts. Kichi took the pot from her and pushed it under the table as Midori spread the quilts around them. The warmth was very pleasant on Kenshin's cold feet and made the still-chilly room comfortable.

"Yoshi said the water should be hot very soon. I am constantly thankful for your father's cleverness in figuring out how to heat the water so quickly! Kenshin-sama, you must go first."

"Surely it would be better for the children to go first? Are they not likely to fall ill from the cold?"

"They'll be fine. Ka-chan is still wrapped in your blanket, sound asleep. And look at Yosu-kun there, he is nearly asleep as well." And indeed, the young boy's head was hanging, only to be jerked up as he tried to open his eyes and deny his tiredness. "But most importantly, it would not be proper. You are our guest, and you are samurai. You** must **go first." Kenshin felt rebuked: a boy receiving a lesson in manners.

He acquiesced in as dignified manner as he could, and quickly washed and entered the tub, leaning back in the very hot water, feeling lethargy creep over him. Kichi entered once, briefly, to set down a towel for his use, but slipped out again without disturbing his peace. The steam plastered his already wet hair against his face and he let his mind go blank, separated from the world by the boards of the walls and the steam that warmed his lungs and fogged his sight.

He did not let himself drift too long: there were others waiting. He dried off and put on his underkimono, wrapping the ends of his hair in the towel. He would prefer to put his kimono back on, but it was wet, and the other one dirty. He picked up the sakabatou from where it lay against the wall and wiped the moisture off. Kichi had raised his brows when he saw it laying there, but had made no comment. Kenshin went back through the kitchen to the main room. They had opened the sliding panel between the two to allow the warmth of the stove to spread. Two other panels were part way open. In one room, Yosuke was lying on a futon, burrowed under a quilt, one of his feet hanging out on the side. In the other, he could see the lump that was Kanae, arms flung wide.

'''''''

Midori looked around when Kenshin entered. With his hair hanging loose and wet, standing there uncertainly in his white underkimono, he looked young and vulnerable and…pretty. Except for the scar. His eyes, that had looked almost purple above his indigo kimono, were now a soft gray. Looking at him like this, it seemed a shame he'd been born a boy.

"Come sit, Kenshin-sama. May I comb out your hair for you?"

Kichi watched with interest the expressions that passed across their guest's face. He thought he detected reluctance…discomfort, certainly. His mother, in her maternal madness, and her fascination with the 'upper class,' would, with steely sweetness, try to bully this man into letting her care for him. He was surprised that he had given in several times already. Why would he allow her to ride roughshod over him?

"Okāsan, perhaps Kenshin-san would prefer that you didn't."

She barely glanced at him as she replied, "Nonsense. A hostess must see to her guest's comfort and treat him with honor. Please, Kenshin-sama, may I do this service for you?"

Kichi wanted to wince as he watched his mother. Sometimes she was a little too much the merchant's daughter. But he loved her, and would not dishonor her by rebuking her in front of their guest. He would talk to her later. The samurai's face was unresponsive and Kichi thought that finally he was going to say no, but then it softened.

"Hai. Arigatou." Kenshin sat back down at his place at the table, drew the quilt around his waist once again, and handed her his comb.

'''''''''

She was gentle, and careful of the knots, but it was painful to let her comb his hair. _No one has ever touched my hair but Okāsan and Tomoe. Why did I let **her**?_ His throat tightened. _Okāsan…Tomoe…she is not you…_

He became aware that Midori was talking, his attention snagged by a phrase:

"…but the battle there at Fushimi held us up for at least four days. Such a nuisance! And then the snowstorm hit, and we were delayed another…"

_Nuisance?_ He stiffened, and nearly turned on her, but stopped himself and sat silently.

"Gomen nasai! Did I hurt you? I will try not to pull so hard."

**_Nuisance! _**He thought of those days of fighting. Of the cold and the wind and the smell of gunpowder. The shouts and the cries of the men falling around him. Of the blood, and himself wading through the bodies, reaping men down as though they were grass. _Ignorant woman! _He stood up abruptly, almost knocking her over, and left the room.

''''''''''''

Midori sat stunned as the door slid open and then shut. The quiet, mild-mannered boy had turned in seconds to a man with eyes that could kill. She began to shake, realizing that she had seen the demon that the people at the inn had spoken of.

"You have no idea what you did, do you?" Her son's voice came to her as from a distance and she looked at him in confusion. "You have persisted in treating him as though he was only a boy. Okāsan, he may look young, but he is a man. And you need to treat him as one."

"But what did I do to make him so angry?"

"I do not know exactly. He did not want you to comb his hair, but he changed his mind….We heard that he was from Chōshū. I think what made him angry was when you spoke of the battle. Chōshū fought there… He is a true samurai, Okāsan. Even in the bath, his sword was nearby. His shoulders are heavily muscled, as one who uses his sword often. And he has scars besides the one on his face. He is a dangerous man, Okāsan, though he has been pleasant with us. Watch your behavior."

'''''''''

Dinner was strained. Midori was still fearful, though Kenshin had come in and apologized for bumping her so hard as he walked out. Once again he was quiet, with eyes of gentle gray, but this time she remembered what Kichi had said and she saw that, indeed, he was not meek: he kept himself leashed. And his eyes were not the eyes of a boy. Nor those of any man she had ever known.

The children had awakened and were at the table with them. Their youthful oblivion and Kichi's calm made the meal bearable. Midori focused most of her attention on Kanae. Yosuke's chatter had been allowed to fill most of the silence.

"…so we are going to be living near a whole lot of our family. Where does your family live?"

Kenshin's hashi paused on the way to his mouth. Midori held her breath. He kept his eyes lowered, but answered evenly, "I have no family."

Yosuke looked horrified at the thought and blurted out, "But then where is your **home**?"

Kenshin's jaw tightened and a muscle stood out in his cheek, but his voice was still mild as he looked at the boy. "I have no home. I am rurouni."

Kichi, in an effort to avoid any more awkward questions by his brother, began to speak of his coming marriage to a girl in Ōsaka. Yosuke, smitten with a wonderful notion, interjected, "I know! Kenshin-san! You should get married like Niisan is doing. Then you'll have a home, and a family!" and then watched in bewilderment as Kenshin, face emotionless, carefully rose, bowed to Midori, said, "Gochisosama," and left again.

''''''''''''''

Kichi waited until his mother was occupied with the children in the bath before he went out onto the engawa. Kenshin was leaning against the wall of the house, cradling the sword in his arms and watching the snow fall. Kichi had been watching his mother and had not noticed that he had taken it. Truly, the sword was always with him. He settled himself against the wall, a couple arm's lengths away. No reaction.

"The view on the other side of the house is better: either the garden, or the trees behind the house." Still no response. Try another approach. "What kind of man takes a sword into the bath?" The samurai remained motionless, but he regarded Kichi from the corners of his eyes. It was not a comfortable feeling.

"A careful one."

"Isn't that a bit extreme?"

"A man I knew said that not having his sword to hand was the mistake of his life. He counseled his friends not to make that mistake."

"He was badly injured?"

"He was killed…it just took him two days to die. He was taking a bath, and his sword was behind a screen."

Kichi was silent, contemplating a life where such things happened. How good his life had been: family, money, safety… "You have been very tolerant of my mother."

A sigh. The strange eyes closed. "She means well. I am sorry that I have scared her."

"She is a good, kind woman. Her whole focus is on her home and family, as is proper. But she is not always wise. And her singleness of purpose often leads her to be ignorant of anything outside the walls of her house. You were at Fushimi?"

The head slowly inclined. Kichi had an impression of great weariness. "Aa."

"You are part of the kangun?"

A faint smile. "Not **rebels**?"

"Okāsan only knows that her family has done well these years, so she is happy with the way things are. She does not see that under the Bakufu, merchants will continue to be looked down on, and farmers will continue to have a hard time making ends meet. Though we are in favor of the change, my father and I do not fight for it. But we honor those who do." The eyes of the two men met in understanding and they sat in quiet companionship, watching the snow. The night was very quiet.

From the inside the house came the reverberation of running feet and the shrill squeal of a little girl. Kichi rose. "My turn for the bath."

"""""""""""

It snowed steadily for three days. Life inside the house fell into a routine. Midori had put her scare behind her. It was easy to discount that she had ever seen the demon. These days, she thought of the samurai more as a ghost haunting her house. He did not fit any image of samurai that she had ever had. He seldom spoke, unless asked a direct question. Rather than expecting them to serve him, she would find him splitting wood or hauling water. She remonstrated, telling him it was part of Yoshi's work, but he was immovable, telling her that he needed something to do. He never put himself forward; instead he seemed proficient at effacing himself, letting their lives flow past him.

Only with the children did he spark to life. Especially with Kanae. She would find them in a corner of the room playing Inai Ba, or hear Kanae shrieking with laughter outside, only to find him trotting down the engawa with her clinging to his back like a monkey. Sometimes Yosuke would join them and the three would play janken for long periods. She was able to wash all their clothes without interruption and then spend time sorting through their out of season clothes to decide what to take. She even did some needlework that had been put off for lack of time.

The third day, Yosuke was at loose ends. She finally had Yoshi bring up a batch of the rice straw stored in the barn, and set her son to twisting it into straw sandals for the family and bundles for heating the bath. When Kenshin came in with more wood, he set it near the stove and came over to where Yosuke worked, squatting down and watching for a few minutes before he sat down and began plaiting sandals, too. His first was a bit lopsided, but he worked remarkably quickly, and the next one was much improved. When Midori exclaimed over his work, he merely said that he'd done it before, with no further explanation.

At night, when Kichi was done with business, they would eat dinner and have baths. Then he and Kenshin would go out and sit out on the engawa while she spread the futons over the mats and put the young ones to bed. Kenshin would remain outside long after they had all gone to bed, but every morning when she rose, his futon was already neatly folded and he was gone, helping Yoshi with the animals.

''''''''''''''

He had been sleeping even worse than usual. Actually, he was sleeping hardly at all. The family, as individuals, he could manage, though he tried to avoid Midori. But watching them all together, he felt raw inside, ready to lash out with hurt or irritation. He was worn out from keeping himself under constant control. The nights on the engawa were his only relief. This would be his fourth night here…_I have got to leave as soon as possible! Thanks to whatever gods there are that the snow looks like it's stopping. If it clears enough that I can stay out and away from them most of the day, I should be able to manage till the road is passable._

Kichi had been right: the view from this side of the house was much better. The night was very dark, the patches of clearing sky black against the shadowy clouds. The snow-covered ground stretched out and away, broken only by the dark trunks of the snow-covered trees, and the thin strip of black that was the river. _Shades of grey and black…a dark world, tonight. _He pulled his blanket tighter around him; he did not want to go in and have to listen to all their quiet breathing while he remained wakeful.

----He had killed all those who would keep him from Tomoe, but it had been at a price: he had lost his 'inner guide,' he could no longer interpret the sounds around him properly, and he could no longer see his way. But she was still ahead, and he** would** find her…

He could feel the change of air as he emerged from the trees, though his body was growing numb with cold and the shock of his wounds. It was hard to feel his feet and his balance was off. He paused, aware of his vulnerability, searching for any clue of how to proceed.

A roar from the side, and he was caught up by the neck. Pain exploded at the base of his skull and he choked on blood. As he was thrown down, he heard the roar again and slashed in its direction, feeling his katana meet resistance. He had at least wounded his attacker. He had time to stagger to his feet before he was battered by brutal blows. Each time his swing was ineffective. His anger and his desperation rose: he had to get to Tomoe! The roar continued, and he stood, focusing on it, drawing together his remaining strength, his will, charging with katana raised….

The satisfaction of impact. The feel of flesh parting, of bones severed. The feel of long hair brushing his face. And the scent…..!

He staggered back, and the gods, in their cruelty, allowed his sight to clear as Tomoe fell at his feet. Frantic, he knelt and tried to staunch the bleeding, packing it with snow, with her scarf. But he knew that it was futile: he had felt the sword go deep—had been glad to feel it so! She looked at him and gasped, "This is the way it should be….Please don't cry." She had no more breath to speak: he had split her collarbone and cut through her lung. At her words, to please her, he tried to wipe away the tears that he had been unaware of, only to leave a smear of blood across his face. The heat of her blood, soaking his clothes, gave feeling back to his frozen legs, but his mind, his heart, were numb as he watched it fade to pink as the snow drank it in. _This is not real…This is not happening…_

He staggered to his feet and picked her up. _We must go home…we need to be home!_ He barely noticed another trail of blood, leading back into the trees---his other victim? As he, too entered the trees, he could see the bodies of his attackers scattered along the track of his footprints. Drawing near to the first—the source of the roar and the trail of blood—he was impelled to look at the face. It was his father's!

In horror, he clutched Tomoe to him and moved ahead rapidly, but the next body was his mother's. _How can this be? These are not the people I fought! Otōsan! Okāsan! _He sank in the snow, cradling Tomoe, crying, afraid to go on. He knew that the other two would be his brother and sister. _What shall I do? I can't leave them here…but I can't carry them all! Tomoe, what should I do?-------_

He woke, silent tears running down his face, heart aching. Ahead of him was the snow, the dark trees. He knew no one was there, it was not real, but the force of the dream compelled him to step down from the engawa and walk, barefooted, into the trees. There was no clearing, no scattering of bodies, no traces of blood. He stood and let the sting of his feet bring him back. _I must leave! I have reopened a wound…and it is bleeding._

'''''''''''''

By morning the clouds were gone, leaving the sun warm in the sky. The sound of melting snow formed a background to all activity, trickling and dripping. Midori was glad to stay in the house: the snow, deep as it was, quickly turned wet and slushy, unpleasant to walk through. By night there would be ice everywhere and it would be dangerous. But her guest—her ghost—had been out the door by earliest light certainly, for he was gone before any of them arose. Yoshi had come by in the midst of his chores to tell them not to expect the samurai until evening meal.

He appeared at dusk, wet and muddy, smelling of sweat. There were dark shadows under his eyes that she did not remember seeing before. She wanted to ask, but his eyes warned her away. She suggested a bath instead. He immediately agreed and disappeared into the room, even though it would take a while for the water to heat. Kichi came in, reeking of horse, and she complained to him about their guest.

"Why is he doing this? What has happened? Is he angry? I've been careful!"

Kichi, thinking of nights in the dark and things **not** said, soothed her as best he could: "Let it go. Be patient. There are matters at work here that we know nothing about. He will not harm us." And he sent her to get him a basin of water to wash in.

Dinner was nearly silent, even the children aware of tension, though not the source. Midori kept darting worried glances towards their guest, who ate with lowered eyes. As soon as he had finished and said all that politeness required, he slid open the door and escaped to the engawa, closing the door softly behind him. Kichi watched his flight with concern, but finished his meal calmly, engaging his family in ordinary conversation till the shadow was gone and all felt normal again.

'''''''''''''

"You are going?"

"I must. I will leave as soon as possible. You have been all that is hospitable, and I a very unworthy guest. But I **must **leave." In the dark, all was vague, but Kichi could hear the desperation in the voice that sought to remain level.

"Do what you must do. I have enjoyed your company. Let us provide you with supplies: we've eaten part of what you had. You see that we have plenty. As a matter of fact, it will make our move easier to have less to take."

A rueful sigh whispered through the dark. "So clever, to make it sound like I will be doing you a favor."

"That way, you cannot refuse. What do you need?"

"Some fresh food. Perhaps a pair or two of the straw sandals. And if you will permit, I will use some more of the straw to make a hat."

"As I said, whatever you need. The children will miss you."

The silhouette shifted. "Your mother will be relieved. I have not been pleasant company."

Kichi chuckled. "You did not fit her image of samurai. It was a shock." There---a near-silent laugh and a relaxing of the shoulders. He had achieved his goal; now he would go in and leave his friend in peace. "O-yasumi-nasai, Ken-san."

"O-yasumi-nasai, Kichi-san. Arigatou."

'''''''''''''

Kichi stayed home the next two days, keeping his family busy with sorting and packing. Kenshin slid in for meals and then out like a feral cat, smiling gratefully as Kichi kept them distracted with talk of the move. He discovered by accident one of the ways Kenshin was spending his time. He had been riding the fields close to the river, noticing that the ground was firming up, when he saw a figure on the river side of the trees. A shift in position caught the sun and sparked fire from red hair and silver blade. Curious, he rode up a little closer, but still kept a good distance to remain unnoticed. From perfect stillness, Kenshin leapt into motion: a river of movement, a tracery of steel so bright its afterimage lingered in his eyes. He was astonished at the speed and grace—the sheer lethal beauty of his friend's swordsmanship. He had told his mother that Kenshin was dangerous, but he had had no real concept of the truth now before him. He turned and rode home, grateful that he was not an enemy of the man.

'''''''''''''

It was barely light when Kichi heard the door slide open and closed. He rose and opened the panel of the room he had been sharing with Yosuke, finding Kenshin wrapping his belongings. He was dressed and ready, the new hat—miraculously appearing overnight—hanging down his back.

"The coward's way out?'

Kenshin looked up. "Not entirely. I was going to wait until either you or your mother was up. But I must admit I'm glad it's you."

"Did you get the food?" Kenshin continued to arrange his possessions, feigning deafness. "All right. If you will not choose after I have already given you permission, you will have to take what I select." He chose to use an offended tone.

"Maa, maa. It is not necessary, Kichi-san." He spoke to his friend's back as Kichi entered the kitchen and began gathering vegetables and greens. Kenshin came to the door. Aghast, he said, "I can never carry so much in my blanket!"

"Then take what you can and don't argue."

''''''''''''

They stood on the stone stairs, looking up at the crescent moon floating overhead as it waited for the sun to blossom into day.

"I am grateful to you and your family, Kichi-san. You have been kind to a person who did nothing to deserve the kindness. Dōmo arigatou gozaimasu." And Kenshin bowed deeply.

As he straightened, they regarded each other, aware of the ties of friendship that now bound them. They embraced and parted with smiles.

"If your wanderings lead you to Ōsaka, Ken-san, look for me at the woodworker's shop in Uemachi. We'll go out and get drunk."

"Hai. May the gods bless your family. And your marriage, Kichi-san. Sayōnara."


	4. Chapter 4 Tsuyama

**A/N: **The 'hit' numbers continue to rise, but I have no way of knowing if people are just looking and moving on , or are actually reading this---unless they leave a comment. Do, please, let me know what you think. I don't even mind if you don't like it…as long as you're polite. Specific details—good or bad-- are always more helpful than "It was great!" or "It was dumb!".

I am EXTREMELY grateful to _misaki-toyodome_ for reading over these chapters to prevent me from making any glaring errors or dumb mistakes. We will all pray that her job will occasionally leave her alone long enough to be able to work on The Courtship of Lady Tokio. (One of my personal favorites)

Nishiwaki and Tsuyama are both actual towns. They were both around during Kenshin's time, although the names may have been different. _As much as possible_, I am trying to stick to real places. Historical events and edicts are as accurate as I can get them. So much of Kenshin's life is formed by the events he's living through….

This chapter may still need some tweaking, but most of it is as it should be, so I'm putting it up anyway. If necessary, I'll adjust it later.

**OK, vocab**. (I'm never sure how much of this you really need…):

kasa— a type of hat woven of straw or sedge. It is cone-shaped and covers most of the head and face. It has spaces woven into it over the eyes to allow its wearer to see where he's going.

kosatsu—a signboard in a public area where royal edicts and other important public announcements are posted.

Sekihotai—volunteer army of ordinary people: peasants, merchants, etc. They aided the Ishin-Shishi and helped increase popularity of the Restoration, but were disavowed when the new government couldn't live up to the promises of tax cuts.

O-samurai-san—standard form of address to an unknown samurai

Mitsukuri Genpo—actually a western scholar and doctor, who taught at the:

Bansho Shirabesho—an institute of western learning sponsored by the Shōgun

sayōnara—good-bye (in a long-term sense)

daimyo—a lord of a domain

onsen—hot spring

ukogi—plant used to treat fatigue and exhaustion

yomogi—plant used to treat multiple forms of inflammation

kuko—shrub whose bark and roots were used to treat fever

konnichiwa—good afternoon

ryo, cho-gin, mon—gold, silver, and brass (or copper) money, respectively. Cho-gin were not actual coins, but pieces of silver valued by weight.

sho—1.638 qt (dry)

go--.328 pt (dry)

furoshiki—square of cloth used for carrying things

Kāsan, Okāsan—mother

chochin—paper lantern

metsuke—the official in a domain (or area) in charge of policing samurai

yare-yare—sort of a 'well,well'

----------

**Ichirizuka by older woman**

**Chapter 4--Tsuyama**

A distance that should have taken him about four days at a sedate pace had ended up taking him six, but Kenshin's route had been erratic. He had strayed off the road into the mountains several times, looking for more plants that he could sell. Most mountain plants needed to be harvested in the spring or summer to get the healthy leaves or fruit, but he had been able to find some useful roots. He'd collected some maple twigs and bark, too, but not much…usually tree cutters and charcoal burners would bring those into town. The last two days he had also encountered several waterfalls. There was a small one that fell into an equally small but inviting pool and he had taken a rapid bath, stoic in the freezing water. He had spent most of the afternoon just lying in the grass watching the shifting lacy patterns and trembling rainbows.

With such behaviour, the journey from Nishiwaki to Tsuyama could have taken even longer, but in the pre-dawn light of the mornings, Kenshin often took advantage of the empty roads—ordinary people choosing to wait for full daylight to start their journeys for safety's sake—to run. He needed to maintain his speed and endurance, and that early morning hour usually gave him sole use of the road. He reveled in the feel of pushing himself, in the silence broken only by the slap of his feet and the pounding of the blood in his ears. By the time the sun broke the horizon, he would be walking tranquilly, hat on head. The kasa had been very successful: its deep cone covered his hair with all but a few inches of the rest down his back under his kimono, while the straw grille allowed him to see while hiding his eyes from others. After a first glance, he was ignored by the other travelers.

Thoughts of his stay with Kichi's family followed him through everything he did. Looking back at that time from his current distance, he felt that he had overreacted. He wondered just what had upset him so. And yet, if he let himself, he could feel again the panic and desperation caused by their presence engulfing him. But really, what had they done? Nothing except take an interest in him, briefly share their life with him… He had not been reasonable. He could even see Midori as he had at the first—before his brain had been tangled by emotion—as a kind woman worried about his comfort.

It was the day he was staring at the waterfall that he finally understood: _I have allowed myself to feel nothing for so long… My emotions now are as excessive as a child's, sweeping me away._ _It was childish of me to leave Nishiwaki because I was upset. And childish of me to be angry at Kichi's family because… I was jealous?_ He allowed that thought to linger, turning it this way and that to determine its reality. _When have I last thought of my family? With Tomoe? Another thing I have not allowed myself._ And he acknowledged the truth: _It hurts too much. I have lost everyone who ever cared for me…_

_But I can't hide anymore: I must face all these feelings and master them, rather than let them master me._

Now, he approached the town along a corridor of barren cherry trees. There was a castle visible on a hill ahead. The town itself began rather abruptly, buildings sprouting up along the road immediately behind the kosatsu. A raven perched on a tall rail near the board, considering a staring head. Kenshin paused to read the edicts and the raven took flight, leaving its grisly companion to watch the road; there had been an execution that morning. Despite--or because of-- the mayhem he himself had caused, Kenshin had always found the practice of exposing heads appalling. Even though he kept his eyes averted, he could feel the weight of its presence. It was not a promising beginning to his stay…

The edicts, too, were not encouraging. The Emperor declared the Shōgun and all his supporters stripped of their powers---that was not surprising. Another writ declared the Sekihotai as 'illegal military' deceiving the people. W_hat has happened to the Sekihotai? _They had aided the Shishi… There was also a call from the Emperor for each loyal han to send men to fight the remaining pro-shogunate clans in the north. The stained and yellowed paper showed that all had been posted some time ago. He checked the dates: early in the second month. Soon after he had left Kyōto. _Perhaps I left too soon...Did Katsura-sensei and I misjudge the opposition?_ _Toba-Fushimi was a month ago. To call up men from all the clans…has resistance strengthened? Or is this just to test commitment?_ It troubled him that he may have left his work unfinished, but he was held now by his vow; anything else would have to be done without him. Surely they could not fail?

He sighed and took his hat off, rubbing his neck in dismay; the day had started out so well! He put the hat back on, but let it hang down his back as he entered the town, testing his recent resolve. He paid close attention to the buildings to distract himself from the people, studying the wall tiles and lattices, but gradually he became aware that the **feel** was different here than in most of the villages he'd passed through. Not so many whispers; not such a feeling of tension. He began to let himself look around naturally, finding stares still directed at him, but not many were alarmed or hostile. Most just seemed…interested. He could feel himself relax: perhaps today would be pleasant after all.

It was a fairly large town. The whole area he was walking through appeared to be businesses, with the owners' living quarters above their shops. The clerks all called at him to come and see, come and buy, but he just shook his head and walked on past the shoppers. He passed a pair of samurai, who looked him over assessingly, but turned down a side street. There were several side streets, but he followed the street he was on until he reached a busy crossroad running north and south past the castle hill. He had found what was evidently the main road: there were several inns and places to eat as well as other businesses. Some distance to his left, he could see the river that his road had followed for the last few ri. On the other side of the main road a bridge crossed a smaller river that added to the defense of the castle, already strong with three massive tiers of stone walls, and what he assumed were barracks at their base. The banks of the narrow river were lined with cherry trees. Leafless now, of course, but in the spring they would probably rival Kyoto's view along the Kamogawa.

There was a smell of cooking in the air, and Kenshin's stomach growled. Perhaps he would eat first, and then ask to find a doctor or apothecary who might be interested in his roots. He approached the inn from which the aroma wafted, but the young woman near the entrance bowed and apologized, "So sorry, O-samurai-san, but the inn has been hired by a traveling gentleman for his household. We beg your pardon for being unable to serve you today. Please let us welcome you another time." He nodded and returned to following the street to see just what was available.

All of the eating places were as busy as the road outside, especially the less expensive ones. He finally found an inn with one table left, though he knew he would spend more than he had intended. He had nearly finished eating when one of the servants approached him, bowing.

"Excuse me, O-samurai-san, so sorry to intrude, but we have no more tables and this honored gentleman desires to know if you would graciously allow him to share yours?"

Kenshin looked up, past the girl, to see a well-dressed older man with short graying hair. The man smiled pleasantly, but his air of authority as well as his silk clothing and the two swords in his sash brought Kenshin to his feet to bow low. "I will remove myself so that you may enjoy your meal undisturbed ."

The gentleman withdrew his katana and placed it to the side as he sat, gesturing for Kenshin to sit back down.

"That is not necessary, though it is kind of you to offer. Finish your meal; I will be glad of the company. From a distance, I had thought that perhaps you were a Westerner who had decided to disguise himself and go exploring. Easy to get lost in the crowds: everyone seems to have decided to take advantage of these warm days to travel to Izumo. I thought maybe I'd have a chance to try out my Dutch."

Kenshin slowly reseated himself, amazed at the words and a little uneasy. "I'm sorry to disappoint, but I speak only Japanese. Izumo. That is where the road out front leads?" The older man did not reply immediately, but waited as the girl arrived with his food and arranged it on the table, bowing low as she left.

"You didn't know? It's **called **the Izumo road. It runs from Izumo up on the northwest coast down past Ōsaka. Haven't you seen the mileposts?"

Kenshin set his tea down and carefully aligned the cup with a bowl before he answered. "I came in on a different road. I'm going west. Please forgive me if I appear rude, but may I say that I am surprised that an honorable gentlemen such as yourself would desire to speak to a foreigner?"

The man's smile widened and he rubbed a hand over his short hair, "Sō, sō, sō… it does seem odd, does it not? But in this town, there are a fair number of us that have taken an interest in Western learning. We have actually become something of a center for such studies. Mitsukuri Genpo came from here. You have heard of him?" He seemed so expectant that Kenshin was slightly embarrassed when he had to admit that he had not.

His companion sat back and crossed his arms. "Ah, well. He was before your time: died about five years ago. He was a doctor who studied Western medicine and taught at the Bansho Shirabesho." He rubbed his hands together with satisfaction before leaning forward to begin eating again. "You're heading west? There's no town of any size close enough to reach tonight….or perhaps you're visiting friends nearby?"

The question seemed carelessly put, but Kenshin felt suddenly wary. Was it just the caution of past years asserting itself? He finished the last of his rice and pickles before answering, "I have not entirely decided what I will do tonight…. Please excuse me, I have en—"

The man interrupted him: "Please forgive me if my questions have seemed intrusive, I did not mean to give offense. I was merely going to mention that these are not the only inns in town. There are a couple quite acceptable smaller ones on the north side of the business section should one need" and he cast a discreet glance at Kenshin's ragged sleeves and the hat and bundles next to him, "to watch expenses."

Kenshin felt himself blushing as he lowered his head to gather his possessions. As he stood and slid the sakabatou into his sash, he bowed and said, "Thank you for your advice. It was pleasant to have company for the meal. Sayōnara." He was about to leave when the older man put out a hand to stop him. His smiling face had turned serious.

"One more word. Our daimyo has sent some of his men up here from Bizen to gather men for the northern fight. To say they detest foreigners would be an understatement. With your hair, I counsel you to avoid them." Nodding his understanding, Kenshin bowed again and left to settle his bill.

'''''''''''''''''''''

The suggestion his mealtime acquaintance had given him concerning inns had been good. The room was tiny, only slightly bigger than the futon in the cupboard, but that would not matter to him. However, with the room he would also get simple meals, and for a price less than sleeping in a common room at one of the larger inns he had passed. Now that he had made arrangements for lodging, he was ready for a bath. There was the choice of the small bath belonging to the inn, or the larger public bath—but the innkeeper had mentioned an onsen. The confining circumstances of his life had never allowed a visit to an onsen, so now that he had received considerably more money from the apothecary than he had expected, he decided to take the opportunity that offered.

After his midday meal, Kenshin had asked directions from the young woman who had served him and had found the shop easily. The interior had been dim and warm with a musty mix of smells that made one want to sneeze. The bald old man (_Why are they always **old** men?)_ had spread out Kenshin's offerings and muttered over them, stroking his sparse beard. Kenshin had been right in not expecting much for the maple. He was satisfied with the price offered for the ukogi and yomogi, but had been amazed at the amount offered for the kuko bark. He did not like to haggle, knowing that it was considered demeaning for a samurai…and more to the point, he always felt guilty that by doing so, he would deprive a family of money they needed to survive. But the old man had so readily named the sum that Kenshin did not feel it wrong to ask for just a little more. He walked out the door with silver as well as copper, very pleased.

Though he would be risking thieves, Kenshin decided to leave his bundles at the inn and take only his money purse and warrant. _Anyone willing to steal any of my things must be poor, indeed! _To leave the sakabatou did not even cross his mind. According to the innkeeper, the springs were close by: just west and across the river.

The late afternoon was pleasant, though the nights were still cold. There were a few less people on the street, and the ones left seemed to be more leisurely in their activities, strolling and standing in groups to chat. He stayed alert for the troops he had been warned about. He was nearly to the Izumo road when he saw four samurai emerge from a side street ahead of him. Kenshin faded into the fringes of a conversational group near him, letting them act as a screen. There were times when it was advantageous to be short. The men turned towards the main road, obviously on their way somewhere. Once they turned the corner, he resumed his course.

He crossed the narrow wooden bridge as he had been directed, but was perplexed. There were no businesses along here; rather, there was only a narrow road lined with the tall walls of samurai houses on one side and the dormant cherry trees on the other. If he turned left, he would eventually come to the barracks and then the main crossroads. If he followed the directions and turned right, he saw only more walls and then nothing but trees. He had received the impression that one needed to pay to use the hot springs, but perhaps he had misunderstood and it was just open, somewhere along the river. He turned right and began walking. On this side of the river, it was quieter. The afternoon sun, slanting across the hillside behind the houses, cast them into shade while it gilded the bark of the cherry trees and lengthened their shadows. The few buildings at the edge of town were enriched with a golden glow. Even the river glinted gold. The warm light settled inside Kenshin like a blessing and he was content.

The wall he was passing came to an abrupt end. A man sat at a table in a small open room at the end of a low wooden building. As he came closer, he could see that on the outside of the building, in elegant, discrete lettering, was the word 'onsen'. Evidently he had found it. He was not quite sure what he had expected, but it hadn't been this.

"Konnichiwa, O-samurai-san! Welcome! Please come in and refresh your honorable self!" The man arose from his seat and came forward to greet Kenshin and usher him through the narrow entry space between wall and building. Before him wandered a scenic path, part of it cut off by a bamboo fence that began at the truncated wall and stretched away into some trees at the base of the hillside. A stream flirted along the path, now touching, now straying away to draw the eyes to pleasant views. At the base of a rocky outcrop, he could see steam rising .

"If you will allow me to show you, sir," the attendant continued as he directed Kenshin to the door of the building and slid it open. Inside the floor was slatted, but completely absent at the far end, where the stream flowed through at an angle. Buckets stood ready along the edge. There were a couple short wooden stools with bran bags sitting on them and some high shelves on which people had placed their clothes. To his right was a partial wall, behind which was a low raised platform spread with a mat. A middle-aged man, obviously blind, was seated against the end wall, and turned his face to the sound of their steps.

"As you see, we have everything necessary. And should you desire a massage, Hideo, here, is most skilled." The blind man bowed, but Kenshin turned back to his guide.

"And what is the cost?"

The man's smile seemed to tighten, and there was the barest pause before he answered, "40 mon?" Kenshin was puzzled at the seeming question, but decided he was willing to pay. Upon receipt of his money, he was informed "We close the gates at dark, sir. Enjoy the water," and the attendant bowed again and left him.

Kenshin stood, considering. He looked over at the blind masseur, who sat expectantly, head cocked.

"If I were to use your services, is it customarily done before or after soaking?"

The older man smiled. "It really doesn't matter, sir. People like it both ways. You just need to be dry so that the mat is not ruined."

"Very well. I will try it as soon as I have washed."

He went back into the larger room and disrobed, folding his clothes carefully, fingering the frayed edges before he set them on a shelf. Judging by the other shelves, there were not many people here. As he filled a bucket from the stream, he was intrigued by the novelty of a stream running through a building. Never had he seen such a thing!

Loosening his hair from its tie, he sat down on a stool and began scrubbing hard with the bran bag at the road's grime on his legs. The stillness from the other room and the low murmur of the water as it slid by continued the quiet of the evening that he had felt on his way here. Silence with no tension in it was still a little unbelievable to him and he paused to just sit for a moment. _There is nowhere I need to be, nothing I need to do, no one who knows where I am...or who I was. _The lack of restraint after so many years was vaguely unsettling. Now he only had a goal—to make amends for the grief and destruction he had wrought, to aid and protect—but no clear idea of how to achieve it.

Picking up the bucket, he dumped it over his head. The water in the bucket was warm and felt good as it ran over his skin. He refilled the bucket and rinsed again. Wringing his hair out, he took one of the narrow towels from the low table by the door and dried off, wrapping his hair in it when he was done. His sword and his money went into the other room with him, laying alongside the platform as he settled onto the mat.

"Just lie down on your stomach, sir, and relax."

Warm hands settled on his back and fingers stroked up the sides of his spine. _I am not sure of this… a vulnerable position… and I am not accustomed to being touched._ His skin twitched and his muscles tightened under the hands, but the fingers continued the long pushes and gentle circles until, finally, his nerves eased and his body loosened. Then the hands moved up to his shoulders, to probe and stretch.

"You are a swordsman, I see."

"Hai. How could you tell?"

"The muscles along your shoulders and back. They show you're someone who uses his arms and upper body a lot. But you're not bulky enough to be a laborer. And not weathered enough to be a sailor. Then, there's the sword you brought in with you."

"Ah, sō…you could tell that by sound?"

"Ano…sound, and common sense. You set one end down before the other. What thing would be long and metal that a man would keep with him, even in a bath house? You needn't fear: it will be safe here. I do not leave the building, and," –a sigh—"there are not many people here to worry about." Immediately after his words, voices could be heard, coming closer. Soon there was a crunch of gravel and the creak of the stairs. The masseur was quiet as he worked his way back down Kenshin's body. Kenshin remained quiet as well, aware of, but not listening to, the voices on the other side of the wall, sinking into the heaviness of relaxation while trying to remain alert. The older man seemed to be worried… As he kneaded Kenshin's legs, Kenshin heard him murmur, "Not many people…"

"Perhaps you should put up a larger sign. Or a notice in the main part of town. I was not sure where you were, and I had directions from my innkeeper."

"Oh, the innkeeper told you? That's good, that's very good. We would like to have signs, but we can't." Kenshin made an interrogative noise, and then jerked his leg away. As a child he had been ticklish, but that had been so long ago… They both apologized at the same time, and Kenshin straightened back out as the masseur continued with a firmer touch on his calves.

"Why would you not be able to have signs if you want them?"

The blind man's hands paused. "You are just passing through, am I right, sir? From Kyōto?" Kenshin tensed again. "Why do you ask that?" The hands traveled to his feet as he was answered in the man's slow, soothing tones:

"The way you speak, sir. That's Kyōto speech, for sure….mixed with something I don't recognize. Anyway, to answer your question….My brother and I don't own this property, sir. It's part of Miyake-san's grant. The last few years, they've had to sell off some of their things. Miyake-san left for the northern battle at the start of the month and Oku-sama thought of opening this part of their property to raise funds for his expenses. My brother and I worked at a bath house in Okayama, but our cousin is one of Oku-sama's servants. When Oku-sama had this idea, our cousin suggested us to run it. So, we came up. But Oku-sama does not want to be shamed by a business, and unless things change, she will not make enough to pay for the costs. I was glad to hear that your innkeeper mentioned it. That is the only way we could think of to bring in more people."

_Drowsy…Falling asleep naked on a mat in an open building is about one of the stupidest things I could do. I need to get up. _Kenshin roused himself and sat up, startling the older man as he was speaking. "Arigatō. That's fine. I will go to the spring now." As he reached for his sword and purse and stood, the blind man bowed and asked, "Please, o-samurai-san, if you enjoy this place, tell others so that we may do well." Assenting, Kenshin moved back into the other room. He paused to discard the wet towel from his hair and took a fresh one, wrapping it around his hips.

Outside, Kenshin slid his geta on and began walking along the path. It was a beautiful garden. In a few months, the azaleas would bloom, and the irises, but they would be accents. This was a garden of water, trees, rocks, and spaces. Each step brought a slightly different scene, revealing new harmonies of the groupings, new aspects of the individual…The late afternoon air was chill on his bare skin, but as he crossed a rock bridge, he could feel the warmth rising from the water. It seemed perfect. What a thing, to own a garden such as this!

The spring itself was slowly revealed: first a mossy edge, deep green in shadow; next, the dancing lights rippling on the hill's rocky side, mimicking the water itself; and finally, the pool, edged with smooth rocks cushioned by moss and overhung with bamboo. The dark shadows of the bamboo leaves, sparked with the sun's glints like fireflies between them, made hypnotic patterns on the water. Steam condensed on the rock face, running in rivulets back down to its source. Peace hung in the air as though it rose from the pool with the vapor. Kenshin set down his sword and purse and slid off his geta. Stepping into the water, he found himself moving slowly, trying to merge with the scene without creating so much as a ripple. The water enveloped him, welcomed him with warmth and quiet. The only sounds were of water and the whispered rustle of the bamboo. He closed his eyes, pillowed his head on the moss, and listened.

_How would I feel, if this were mine and I had to give it up? Is this how it happened to my great, great, grandfather? Will this family wind up like mine, treasuring memories of what was? _He opened his eyes and looked about more objectively. He could see the wall that formed the actual end of the property.

To his other side, he could catch a glimpse of the upper story of the family's storehouse past the bamboo fence, and a bit of tiled roof behind that. The house? If it was, they had given up almost a third of their original grounds for this venture. He wondered if the storehouse was nearly empty of the family's treasures, or if they had chosen this means to try and be able to retain some. _We had nothing left. Not even his swords… Only pride, and tradition. And they do not go well with a peasant's life. _

_Why must it be this way? And yet, why should this family have had so much, and others so little? Isn't that the thing I've fought for? To give the poor an equal chance for happiness? But to do that, do we have to tear down everyone else? _

_Why is **this **man fighting? For my reasons? Or to get rid of gaijin? Or just to be obedient to his lord? Or something else entirely? Each of us fighting has his reasons, and we all count the cost and make the sacrifice. I gave up my training and my peace of mind…but I never knew I would be called upon to give up my wife. Why should those around us have to sacrifice as well? Why should this woman? Why should her husband be fighting—maybe dying-- while I am sitting here in her spring?_

The scene was still beautiful, but his own thoughts had driven the peace away. He soaked a while longer, the same thoughts chasing through his mind over and over._ What can I do to help? I could not take his place, even if my vow did not bind me…_

He scrambled out of the water and picked up his purse. Impatiently, he wrapped his hair in his towel to keep the water from dripping on his hands. He spread his money out, the ryo and cho-gin and mon. The gold he had to keep, Katsura-sensei had meant it specifically for him, and he might yet need it. He counted over the rest, estimating what he would need for supplies. There was still silver left. He weighed it in his hand, wondering if he was being foolish: they still had more than he did. What difference would his silver make? _But this is the sacrifice I choose to make today: to do what I can to make things better for this family since I can no longer aid to end the war._ _How to do it without offense?_ He thwacked himself in the forehead at the thought: he would not have to worry about it because he would leave it with the brothers. They would merely include the extra in whatever had been earned that day. Rising, he wrung out his towel and finished drying off before heading back to dress.

Back at the building, he had to put his dirty clothes back on, but it would just be until he returned to the inn. After Kenshin slid his sakabatou into his ties, he carefully sorted his money once again on a shelf. It would not do to lose any through the slats of the floor! He added a few mon to the pile and returned the rest to the bag. At the door, he turned and looked into the blind man's little room. He was still there, sitting quietly by the wall. Kenshin walked in and squatted down next to him. "This is for you." As the man held out his hand, Kenshin placed the mon on his palm.

The older man traced their edges with a finger and smiled. He bowed and said, "Dōmo arigatō gozaimasu, O-samurai-san. This one is very grateful for your kindness."

As he passed through the entry to reach the road, Kenshin handed the rest to the other brother. He felt confident that family loyalty and the sincerity he had felt from the men would ensure that the money was used as he intended. "This is for your mistress and her family. I hope she does well and that your master will be safe."

----------

Dusk was closing in on the rest of the town as Kenshin once again entered the business section. The streets were quiet; most people were home, preparing for the evening meal. A few were still finishing errands: most shops would not close till full dark. Those on the main road would stay open even later. He had remembered seeing a rice merchant's shop not too far from the inn and would see if it was still open. The purchase should not take long and he would be back in time to eat.

The merchant was lighting the chochin in front when he arrived, but paused and bowed, "Irasshaimase! How may I help you this evening?"

"How much for two sho of rice?"

The answer was about what he had expected: high, but not extreme. Everyone had to make supplies last till the next harvest. If he wanted to save money, he could always buy barley instead… He decided to buy rice. He preferred it, and though he no longer had as much leeway, his finances were healthy.

He was waiting for the shopkeeper to measure out the rice and wrap it up in a cloth, when he heard the rapid clack of geta and looked up. A young woman, baby in arms, was hurrying towards the shop, followed by a little girl with a smaller child on her back. Upon reaching the store, the woman stood quietly to one side, catching her breath as she waited her turn with meekly downcast gaze. The little girl's eyes stared and she hid fearfully behind her mother when she noticed Kenshin looking at her. He looked away, but a second later, he heard the child's loud whisper, "Kāsan, can we go? That man is scary!"

Her mother turned and shushed her as discretely as she could, but the loud whisper continued, "His eyes are wrong…and so is--" Her mother's hand covered her mouth as the woman glanced up to see if there was any hope he could have missed the words. Her eyes also widened as she saw his hair, but she gasped when she saw his sword. Hurriedly, she bowed low, and pushed her child into a bow as well.

"O-samurai-san, please forgive us! I am an unworthy mother, to be so poor in teaching this foolish child her manners, but she is very young. Please forgive her!"

Their fear was palpable, so strong in the air that Kenshin could taste it. His voice was quiet as he sought to reassure, "It is all right. Be calm. I am not offended." But his stomach clenched at the knowledge that he would have such an effect on a child and as he spoke, he moved to the other side of the small shop to try to ease their fears. At his words, the woman's eyes flew quickly to his face before she modestly lowered them again as she hesitantly straightened up.

"O-samurai-san is most forgiving of these worthless people. Dōmo arigatō gozaimashita!" And she bowed yet again, nudging her daughter who faintly echoed the thanks before trying to merge with her mother's kimono and disappear. But Kenshin had seen their faces: the mother, the little girl, and the silent child staring over the sister's shoulder. He remembered that look. The slightly hollowed cheeks; a hint of weariness around the eyes. And the neat but worn clothes. He had seen it looking back at him from a still pond, or from his family's faces… He remembered the feeling: not yet starving, but always hungry.

The shopkeeper intruded on his thoughts as he brought up the package of rice that Kenshin had purchased, thanking him for his business. With no more reason to linger, Kenshin left the store. But he did so reluctantly and as he moved away, he could hear the beginning of their conversation.

"What is it you want, Harada-san? I'm ready to close." The merchant's voice was brusque.

"Please…I would like to buy some rice, Terada-san." Her voice was almost pleading.

"How much do you have today?" The sound of coins changing hands. "Feh! This won't even buy a _go _of rice."

Kenshin found himself slowing in front of the next store, unashamedly listening.

"It was not a good day for my husband. That is all he received. But I must have something for our next meals. How much barley will it buy?"

"I can give you three _go _of barley." The man's voice lost some of its harsh tone: "The price of rice is going up. So much of it is getting sent north for the army. Who knows? In a few months, we may all be eating barley."

As the woman agreed to the purchase, Kenshin walked on a little farther. He had assumed that the price was high because of the season. He had never thought of the army affecting it; he'd always been a part of the force, receiving his rice as part of his supplies. He had accepted it without thinking. But to supply a large force would lessen the amount available for everyone else. _Another sacrifice._ _That woman has nothing to do with the war. Her husband is no warrior. But her family goes hungry anyway. Three go? For four people? That will last maybe a day._

An idea began to take form in his mind…He stopped, and looked back. The woman and her children were emerging from the shop, as the owner slid his door shut behind them. It was that brief time, neither day nor yet full night, when all things were seen as though through a curtain, edges indistinct and colors dim. There were no longer crowds of people to lose himself in, but if he stayed under the buildings' overhangs and far enough behind, he would be nothing but one of the shadows.

He followed them through one turn, gliding silently through the rapidly darkening night. In his indigo kimono and dark gray hakama, he would be virtually invisible. But in the night air, sounds would be more noticeable. He paused briefly to slide off his geta and strip off his tabi, thrusting them into the front of his kimono, before hastening to catch up on silent feet. Ahead of him, they turned once again. He left the wooden walk and sprinted down the empty street, slowing at the corner to turn it carefully in the darker shadow of the building. The small family was only a little way ahead. This was no real street, just a dark and narrow alley. Here, hidden in the midst of the surrounding businesses were the homes of the poorer people. Far down the alley, in the faint glow of a lantern, a man was soaking in a tub on his bit of an engawa, but he was the only person out in the night besides the family Kenshin had been following.

That family had reached their home, and he marked the place. Looking up, he studied the roofs, black under the moonless sky. The two-story building here on the corner was tile, but most were wood. The buildings seemed one long row house, they were so close together. That would be good for him if he had to leave quickly. His target house was not one of the ones with an engawa: that was also good. He slipped forward past the wooden fronts, listening for any indication that one might slide open just as he passed, spilling out light.

At the corner of the woman's house, he paused. How to attract attention once he was safely hidden? He'd try the same method he'd used at the safe houses… He crouched down and picked up a few small rocks, stashing them in his sleeve. Then he approached the steps and set his bundle of rice down in front of the door. Retreating back to the corner, he ran a step or two and leaped to the edge of the roof where the support would be strongest and it was less likely to creak. Walking along the edge, cat-footed, he moved till he was just above the door and then stretched out on his stomach, hanging over just enough to see what he was doing.

Retrieving his stones, he threw one down at the door. He pulled back and waited to see if anything would happen, ear against the wood. Nothing. This time he used a larger one and threw it hard, and then another…. Now he could hear the rhythmic vibrations of footsteps. The door slid open and there was silence and then a woman's gasp and exclamation. As the door closed, he could hear her calling to her family. He lay quietly for a moment under the stars and then smiled.

''''''''''''''''''''

After the woman had taken the rice inside, Kenshin had taken a straight route back to the inn across many roofs. Staying below the ridgelines, he could not be seen from the street. And if anyone wondered at the creaks they heard, he was long since past and gone before they could investigate. He had made it back to the inn just barely in time: they had already begun to serve the meal.

Now he sat as close to the lamp as he could, the occasional flicker making it harder to see what he was doing. He had not tried this before, but he disliked looking ragged and having people notice it. So, here he was, with needle, tanto, and borrowed scissors, unpicking the stitching on his kimono sleeves while trying to make sure he would remember how they had been stitched in when he reversed the sides they were on. The bottom of his hakama would be easy: he would just turn it up a little.

He would try to wash the kimono and hakama tonight and then do the sewing in the morning when the light would be better. It was getting light earlier, so he should be able get it done and still have plenty of time to browse through the market to restock. As he sat in his underkimono, the pale gray kimono and black hakama for tomorrow already neatly set aside, he wondered if it was time to look for a lined kimono. He would have to sell or trade one of his padded kimono for it, or his bundle would get too bulky. Technically, it was illegal to change so soon…. But who would care if a poor wanderer had let the warm weather persuade him to change a little early? And surely, wouldn't such a law follow the shogunate into oblivion?

The evening passed quietly. Wrapped in the blanket, leaning against the wall and cradling the sakabatou, Kenshin thought about the day. Perhaps some would say that he had been foolish. His silver would not last long, nor would the rice. And those two families were only two of a great multitude struggling with life. But they were the two that he had encountered. There was little he had to offer beyond his skill with a sword, but he had done what he could. And perhaps, for just a day or two, their worries and fears would be eased. Perhaps soon the war would end and everyone could begin anew…

'''''''''''''''''''''

The sleeves had been a struggle. The hakama had been quickly fixed, but the kimono sleeves would not cooperate. Each time he looked back at a length of stitching, he would find that it did not lay flat. He found himself repeating the proverbs on patience that Shishou had quoted to him so often in an insufferably smug voice. The third try on the right sleeve was not perfect, but was the best it was going to get unless he spent the entire day working on it. He wasn't sure how many times he had unpicked sections of the left, but they had been small ones. At least there were no longer any frayed edges visible.

The weather could not seem to make up its mind. Today was cooler again, and windy. Clouds came and went and he was glad for the padding in his kimono, but it was still a relief to be out and moving after the frustration of the morning. He had decided to wear his hat: with his hair and eyes covered, he did not have to be **quite** so alert for hostile people and could pay a little more attention to his shopping. There were enough other people passing through that it did not seem unusual.

He had returned to the rice merchant and bought barley to replace what he had given away. He had acquired some of the area's 'famous' sweet potatoes as well as a small squash. Ginger, pepper, salt, and tea had all been wrapped and added to the furoshiki. He would not buy anything that did not travel well; he could usually find mushrooms, cress, or water chestnuts to supplement his basic stores. As it was, his pack would be heavy for several days. But there was one thing more… Generally, he did not much care for sweets, but he had seen a shop on the main road that sold honey, and he thought perhaps a small piece of comb…..

Kenshin turned the corner directly into the path of five tall samurai. He bowed and murmured an apology and began to step out of the way, only to have a large hand grasp his shoulder. He sensed no threat-- despite the weight of the hand and the fact that its owner was partially armored—so he stood quietly. The soldier looked down at Kenshin and held him at arm's length, addressing his companions: "See what a fine samurai boy we've found! All ready to join up and go north to fight: he even has his hat and rations with him!"

The other men chuckled, but their humor changed to startlement at the husky voice that emerged from the boyish figure: "You mistake: I am no child. Please release me."

The hand was quickly removed and the man bowed slightly, "Sorry, friend. But all the better that you are of age! I see that you are a traveler…If you have no lord, come, join the troop that we are raising to suppress the northern traitors who defie the Emperor! You may fight for sonno-jōi, and be fed regularly as well."

"Iie. I am already committed. I am of Chōshū." Kenshin was shocked at the surge of antagonism he felt from the men around him. Only one seemed to be unaffected. _Why would these men hate Chōshū? Are we not allies fighting for the same thing?_

"Chōshū!" the leader growled and spat.

"Iseki-san…" The calm soldier said no more, but received a hostile stare from his brother soldiers for even such a small interruption.

"Sneaking dogs!"

_I do not understand this…They have turned into a pack of snarling wolves. And I seem to be their prey._ He glanced around; people around them had drawn back, fearing violence. This was a castle town: these men were the law. ..

"Chōshū should be beaten down with the other traitors! Loudest to cry sonnoi-jōi; we all honored you when you attacked the gaijin ships….But now? Now you deal with the gaijin to increase your power. Now that you're near the Emperor, you think **only** of Chōshū !"

"You speak of 'jōi', and then press the Holy Emperor to grant audience to the filthy barbarians. Hypocrites! Desecrators! You are worse than the Bakufu!" In righteous anger, the man drew his katana and sliced the air where Kenshin's head should be. His only victim was the hat, but damage had been done--

Kenshin's hair was exposed. As if to add insult, clouds cleared the sun and his hair seemed to glow in its redness. After their abuse, the silence was stark and he could feel their malice growing. In response, he tried to will them to calm, but pack instinct ruled them now, and they would soon close in for the kill.

"Ah, sō ka?" Their leader drew out his words, low and threatening. "Now we see…Chōshū is even **breeding** with the barbarians. What was your mother? A harbor whore? Did she earn your sword by keeping the gaijin happy for your lord?"

The man's words struck at the still-raw spot in Kenshin's heart and he felt rage begin to surge, pressing for release on this man who defiled the memory of Okāsan. He battled with the anger, seeking for calm, and his eyes, pupils constricted and blind from the struggle, struck fear into the men they passed over, seeming almost colorless and blank, as though he were possessed.

The quiet man had approached the leader and, speaking softly, sought to restrain him. But hatred rode him now, and he would find release only in combat. Looking at Kenshin, standing seemingly unaware, he declared, "He is an abomination, and I will rid the world of him."

Drawing his katana, he rushed Kenshin, ready to strike his head off. The last thing he saw was the colorless eyes turning towards him.

Kenshin felt the moment of decision when the man began to move and ten years of training took over his body while his reason was still arguing with his emotion. Without volition, he drew smoothly and lunged low, striking high across the chest, at the heart. His enemy flew back and landed hard on the ground, limbs splayed from the force. The soldiers were rooted to the ground, dazed from the speed of the encounter.

With impact had come clarity. Kenshin was horrified at what he had done: all his practice, all his careful planning, gone for naught? _Have I broken my vow? Can I be nothing but a murderer?_ He stepped towards his fallen opponent, oblivious to the watchers, desperate to reassure himself that the man still lived. He only caught a glimpse of split lacings before another soldier, fearing his intentions, charged him with a scream, sword held high. Kenshin leapt into the air and, as the man passed under him, descended with sword reversed. He felt the crack as tsuka met collarbone and the right arm fell, dropping the katana.

He backed off immediately and sheathed his sword, dropping his hands to his sides.

"I do not desire to fight you. I sought only to protect myself. Dōzo, see to your friends."

Two of the men hastened to pull a shutter on which to carry their unconscious compatriot, while the quiet man came up to Kenshin, rope in hand. "You have broken the peace and endangered the people. You have fought the daimyo's troops. You must come with us."

All eyes were focused on Kenshin as the small procession made its way towards the castle and the barracks: the unconscious man carried by his two friends, the wounded man walking carefully, holding his right arm tightly with his left, and Kenshin, walking under guard, hands bound and head bowed. But he did not even notice. He was just grateful for the few hopeful signs that he had seen: no bleeding from nose or mouth, closed eyes, and only a long, sickly white strip where flesh had been ripped away, sluggishly oozing blood.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''

Kenshin sat against the wall of the small room, head down on his knees. His eyes were closed, but it didn't matter: closed or open, all he saw was his victim's face as the sakabatou tore across his chest. He clung to the hope that the man was still alive, that he had **not **killed him. _How could I have done it? Was it my anger? __Even though I **say **I wish to help people, are my most basic instincts those of a killer?_ If the man lived, it was through nothing he had done, but only through the blessing of the sakabatou. _I need it here with me. I need to hold it…_

But they had taken his sword. They had untied his hands, and after searching his bundle, they had left it in this room with him, but they had taken his sword! He was not even sure how long he had been here; he paid no attention to the tolling of the hour. He had some vague notion that there had been food at some point, but he had not eaten. How could he eat when he saw that face?

The door slid open and his guard—the quiet samurai—stepped in.

"Get up. The metsuke has finally arrived. You are to go before him and the captain."

Kenshin slowly rose and made as if to pick up his bundle, only to be stopped by his guard's voice: "Leave that for now." Straightening, he walked towards the door and passed through, his jailer following behind, hand on his katana's hilt.

His cell had been an empty room in the barracks. Outside, visible through the open panels of the hall, soldiers sparred in the open space under a gray sky. They paused to watch the prisoner en route to his judgment. Kenshin could feel their hostility, their stares, but did not care: he was cocooned in fatalistic calm. If the soldier had died, Kenshin would probably be required to follow him; by tonight, he might receive the welcome so long promised by those he'd killed. It would be fitting for an oathbreaker and a murderer.

The corridor joined to another hall, running off at a right angle. At his guard's prompting, he continued on until they came to an open shōji with a soldier on either side. It was a meeting room, with a dais at the far end. Seated along one wall were the 3 remaining soldiers of the group he had encountered. The man whose collarbone he had broken had his arm strapped tightly to his side and glowered at Kenshin's entrance. On the dais knelt 2 men dressed in kami shimo, talking quietly, with a third seated behind a small writing desk. Below and to the side of the dais sat a clerk.

His guard led Kenshin to the middle of the room, directly in front of the dais, but a safe distance away. They both knelt, his guard still slightly behind him and to his right.

After several minutes, one of the officials gestured towards the door and it was drawn shut by one of the soldiers standing sentinel. The man at the desk poised his brush to write. The second official turned his head and Kenshin was stunned to see that it was the older man who had shared his table the day before.

" I am Captain Yamamoto of the Bizen army and this is the metsuke of Mimasaka, Sato-san. You have been brought before us because you have attacked and injured troops of Bizen domain. Identify yourself."

Kenshin bowed low before his judges._ He did not say _killed_—the man lives! But will he recover? _"Yamamoto-san, my name is Himura Kenshin, of Chōshū." A glance passed between the 2 officials at his words.

"Do you have your identification papers?"

Kenshin carefully pulled the slim leather case in which he kept his warrant out from his kimono and unfolded the paper, placing it on the floor before him. The clerk hastened from his position to pick it up and hand it to the judges. They looked at it in turn and held a whispered conversation. Kenshin's sharp ears caught Katsura's name.

Setting it aside, the captain directed, "I wish to hear your version of events. Speak now."

Kenshin's voice was soft in the quiet room. "I was buying supplies. I am on my way back to Chōshū. I ran into your men and was asked if I would join to help the Northern Army. I told them I could not: I was already committed to Chōshū. They seemed angered by the mention of my domain, and my appearance offended them. One of the men attacked me and I defended myself. When I moved to see how badly injured he was, another man attacked me and I defended myself again. When no one elsecame against me, I allowed myself to be brought here."

There had been a murmur, quickly stilled, from the soldiers during his account. Now the captain's eyes turned sternly in their direction. "Fujiwara-san. You appear to disagree. What is your version?"

The injured soldier bowed and answered. "Yamamoto-san, I attacked that person only to defend Iseki-san when that person approached him with sword in hand as he lay helpless. He would have killed him! If you had seen his eyes before he struck Iseki-san...! He looked like a demon!"

The metsuke rubbed his chin, "So, there is a question of intent… Fujī- san, in your eyes, what happened?"

Kenshin's guard replied, "We were on the Izumo road. Himura-san turned the corner and ran into us. We could not see his face—he wore a hat—and Iseki-san first thought he was a boy. When he found that he was not, he asked him to sign up with the army. Himura replied—as he said—that he was already committed to Chōshū. Many in the Bizen army have strong feelings about Chōshū's actions. Tanaka-san drew his sword on Himura-san, but missed. When his head became uncovered, Iseki-san insulted both his domain and his parents and attacked him. Himura-san struck back. He did approach Iseki-san while he was helpless, but I doubt that he had deadly intentions. Had he wished to kill, he could have slain any of the three who attacked him. He chose to ignore Tanaka-san's attempt, and only broke Fujiwara's collarbone when he could have split him in half. I do not know how he kept from killing Iseki-san. I saw the strike--so hard he flew backwards—but he only has several broken ribs, a bad headache, and an odd wound that looks like the flesh was peeled from his chest. And, as Himura-san says, once there was no threat from us, he offered none, but came quietly when I arrested him."

_Only broken ribs, and the gash! He will recover…I have not broken my vow! Thank the gods and Katsura for the sakabatou! And this man...this man has seen me fight and does not think of me as a killer…" _He felt light-headed from relief.

Frowning, the metsuke leaned forward and stared at the three soldiers. "Tanaka-san, I ask you directly. Did you draw your sword on Himura-san?"

The man addressed paled, and swallowed heavily, "Aa, Sato-san."

The older official sat back on his heels and looked at the captain. "Yare-yare…We have two soldiers admitting to their own unprovoked first strikes on a samurai from another domain, and no one denying that Iseki-san also struck first. But only Fujī-san mentions the insults. I find that interesting, since only yesterday—receiving reports of a strange looking samurai in town—I sought Himura-san out and spoke to him. I, myself, warned him of the dangerous feelings against foreign-looking people held by many in the Bizen army."

Greatly displeased with the situation, the captain snapped at his men, "And I, also, **ask you directly**: Were these insults spoken? Did you offer offense to this man?" Shamefacedly, they bowed low and answered in the affirmative. Gritting his teeth, the captain looked back at the metsuke. "It appears that there will be other judgments for me to make. Let us end this." and he called to a guard at the door to escort the 4 soldiers out. Kenshin was left kneeling alone before his judges.

The gray-haired official looked down at him. "I am sorry that you have had to endure such treatment in our province. Since you are a stranger, and have been cleared of interference with the army, the judgment is mine to make. You are obviously not intentionally at fault, but I did warn you. So, for the benefit of everyone concerned, I order you to remain in your room at the inn until dawn, at which time you will leave the city. Remove yourself from the domain as quickly as possible. I do not want to see you again." He handed Kenshin's warrant to the clerk, who placed it back in front of Kenshin.

Kenshin bowed low. "Dōmo arigatō gozaimashita, Sato-san. It shall be as you say. Onegai shimasu… may this person say something?"

"Hai?" The metsuke looked curiously at Kenshin. He was acquitted, what more did he want?

"You are most gracious. This one thought that perhaps you would desire to know that Fuji-san did nothing offensive to this one. Indeed, this one believes that he tried –within the limits of his position—to restrain his leader. It is this unworthy one's opinion that much trouble might be prevented if persons such as Fuji-san were given authority over the more impulsive."

The older man looked startled for a moment, and then let out a bark of laughter. "An interesting opinion, indeed…couched in the most humble language!" He turned to the captain, "May I recommend Himura-san's idea to you as you deal with your part of this problem? And, if you will agree, let us assign the estimable Fuji-san as Himura-san's warden until the morning. Then we will know of a surety that our commands have been followed."

At a grunt of assent from the captain, the two men rose and left by an inner door.

'''''''''''''''''

It was a silent night in Kenshin's room at the inn. Fujī-san was as little inclined to conversation as Kenshin himself. They had eaten the evening meal together in the common room, piquing the interest of all who had heard the street's gossip with their impassive expressions and ordinary behavior. What had happened?

In his room, Kenshin cleaned the sakabatou with reverence. It had been returned to him as he left the army base and he received it gratefully. The sword had not only saved his life, but his soul. As he wiped the blade, a movement from Fuji-san made him look up. The man was leaning forward, staring at the sword with narrowed eyes. He rose and moved next to Kenshin, squatting down to examine it more closely.

"Ahhh, sō…" he sighed with the satisfaction of a puzzle solved. Looking up, he met Kenshin's gaze. "You are a great swordsman." With that, he retreated to his place by the door and resumed his vigil.

Once Kenshin had finished and gently slid the sword back into its saya, he moved to the open window. Settling on the sill, he leaned his head back against the frame and looked out over the dark roofs to the trees and hills. He could not see the moon from this window, but he knew it would be setting soon. The clouds looked like piles of indigo silk, soft with shadowed folds. He wished that he could lay his head down on them and wrap the speckled velvet of the sky around him and rest in their peace.

_What is my life? What am I doing? _Without turning his head, he asked, "What will happen to the others?"

After a pause, an answer came: "They attacked and insulted a samurai who serves a powerful man from a powerful domain. If it becomes known, it will be an embarrassment to our lord."

Kenshin repeated, "What will happen to them?"

"I do not know. But we are Bizen soldiers, and this is **our **domain. What happens now is no concern of yours."

_I understand nothing. Why does everything we do get tangled up? Even allies are fighting. Why can't we get things right? _He remembered the edicts from yesterday. "What is happening in the north?"

"Aizu and its allies have retreated into the mountains. It is a difficult fight. We have more men and better weapons, but they know the country and have the support of the local people."

" And what has happened to the Sekihotai?"

"They've been disbanded and the leaders captured. They were marching through the country raising support for the new government by promising tax relief. But the government has disavowed that they ever told them to do such a thing."

_A new start seemed so close…Would it have made a difference if I had stayed? Will things ever get better, or has Shishou's fatalism been right all along?_ He could feel depression settling and closed his eyes. The silence of the room weighed on him. A whisper of chill touched his cheek and he looked out into the night. "It's beginning to snow."

'''''''''''''''''

As always, Kenshin was awake before dawn. His dreams had been a chaos of battles and swords. He remembered that each time he had thought to grasp the sakabatou, he had found a katana in his hand instead. He looked across the room; Fujī-san had finally fallen asleep. But the moment Kenshin began to move, he came awake. There was little for either of them to do. After a trip outdoors to the privy, Kenshin's things were collected from the upstairs room. It was a small piece of luck, but the kitchen was already busy making breakfast, so he was able to have a bowl of rice and some soup before starting his journey again.

The town was just waking when they left. People from outlying areas were beginning to arrive to set up their market offerings and some shopkeepers were scrubbing their steps. The snow that the storm had left was light and dry, crunching beneath their geta and frosting the branches of the cherry trees along the river, a faint shadow of their spring glory white against the gray morning. They crossed west over the main bridge into a different section of town. This road was also lined with trees. At the end of the buildings, Fujī-san stopped and bowed, "I wish you a safe journey."

Kenshin bowed in return and thanked him, and then continued down the road. The sun was rising behind him, and in its light he realized that the trees he was passing—that he had assumed were cherry—were actually plums. Beneath their coating of snow, he could see the blossoms. The sight lifted his spirits and gave him hope. Both he and his country were facing storms of troubles, but if they stood firm, maybe they, too would blossom.


	5. Chapter 5 Miyoshi

Disclaimer: Kenshin is the brainchild of Watsuki, and the source of untold wealth for Sony, Shonen Jump, etc. Not for me. I am poor and impoverished.

A/N: If any of you are interested, there are links for Atagoyama, Tsuyama, and Miyoshi (or Sea of Fog) on my profile page. And links to ghost stories. The actual version of O-kiku that I used came from a longer story called "Bancho Sarayashiki" in the book The Haunted House: More Samurai Tales of the Tokugawa by James S. De Benneville. Pretty grim.

Also, I've started posting what stage I'm in on my writing on the profile page, too.

**Vocab: **Sanyodo—the road along the coast of the Inland Sea from Tokyo almost to Shimonoseki

fudai—vassal loyal to the Tokugawa since before 1600

tozama—vassal to the Tokugawa after the battle at Sekigahara; not trusted as much

Kinsei—Venus

Bingo, Biichuu, Aki, Iwami—various western provinces

Kanto—region of Japan that includes Edo

Kinai—region that includes Kyōto

Obake (not sure if that should be a double 'e')—ghosts; things that have undergone a mysterious transformation

Kinmon no Hen—battle for the gates of the Imperial Palace in 1864

Yūjo--prostitute

Shitsurei shimasu—excuse me (literally, "I'm about to be rude.")

Ezo—old name for Hokkaido

ken—about 6 feet

**Calendar: **With the help of Kido Takayoshi's diary, I now have a fairly decent grasp of how the lunar calendar lined up with ours during these years. From now on, (I'm not going back to fix the first chapters right now), we'll be on Kenshin's lunar calendar. **Right now he's in the middle of 2nd month, which in 1868 runs from our Feb. 25-Mar.29.**

Many thanks to praisedivinemercy for beta reading!

**Chapter 5 Miyoshi**

Kenshin had reached the barrier gate at Bizen's border late that first afternoon, one of only two he had encountered since he had left Kyōtō. He had not actually been on the road, preferring to parallel its course through the trees farther up the hillsides in order to avoid other travelers and any further trouble that might arise. But seeing the gate ahead, he had decided to come down and pass through it on the assumption that a message may have been sent ahead to watch for him to make sure he left the province. No comments had been made, but his warrant had been read very carefully before he was allowed through.

Once through, he had left the road again. He was in Biichuu now, and they had long been loyal to the Tokugawa; caution sent him back up into the trees. It was slower going, but he traveled steadily, keeping the road in sight, with no excursions further up to satisfy curiosity or gather plants. This was territory he had almost no remembrance of. He did not want to risk finding his way blocked by an unexpected chasm or impassable river, should he just cut cross-country heading west.

The road was not crowded with great throngs of people-- as he had seen the Sanyodo five years ago--, but there was a fairly steady stream. Most were peasants. There were some small merchants, all their wares loaded on their back or the back of one or two horses. There was one group, moving slowly, of several women, all dressed for pilgrimage, watched over by a lone samurai. All of them so vulnerable; so open to ambush….but perhaps this road was known to be quiet and safe. He wondered where they were all coming from: which of the occasional branch roads had led them here? He wondered what temple drew the women and why.

That first day on the road from Tsuyama, his mind had been on other things: he was fretting over the fate of the samurai who had attacked him. He had killed none of them (the feeling of horror that he had had still lingered…_Never again! I never want to feel that again…)_, but he knew perfectly well that if the captain felt the offense was great enough, any or all of the five might be required to commit seppuku and would die anyway. He had dared to make his suggestion to try to ease their future judgment. Sato-san had seemed amused—perhaps he would consider it—but the decision was up to the captain, and he had been greatly displeased. His mind chewed and worried over the same thoughts, pulling in worries over the Sekihotai and the Edo struggle as well, until he felt like tearing his hair in frustration. There was **nothing** he could do about **any** of it!

_I have to accept that I am powerless now, except for those things right around me. And even then, I may not be able to do much. It was Katsura's name that saved me this time. **I** am an ordinary person again. The only power I have will come from my sword or my wits._

It was a hard thing to acknowledge: he was used to being feared, though he had not liked it; he was used to being important in battle, to making a difference; he was used to knowing what was happening._ It was the power over death that made me important and powerful, and I have put that behind me. I wanted to be a real person again. These are the consequences._ The thought that he could do so little saddened him. And yet, there was a certain freedom in accepting that he was no longer Tenchu. He was no longer in complete control over life and death. He could only challenge circumstances that he found unfair and do his best to right them. Maybe it would be sufficient atonement for his dead, maybe not…

Nearing the end of the third day, Kenshin estimated that he had probably traveled close to 45 ri. He did not know exactly where the boundary lay between fudai Biichuu and mostly tozama Bingo, but he thought it should be close. It was odd that so large an area as stretched below him should not be cultivated; perhaps it was left as no man's land—a buffer zone between the two provinces. In the growing warmth of second month, rape blossoms spread over the plain, their movement in the afternoon breeze creating the image of a field of undulating yellow silk. From his vantage point on the hillside, the few willows and brief flashes of silver water appeared as though they were painted on a golden banner. Beyond him in the distance, he could see the faint gray wisps of smoke that might mark a village.

The number of people on the road had thinned out in the last hour. There was still a fair while before dark and Kenshin decided to go down to the river. If he was going to rejoin the road tomorrow, he would need a new kasa. Hopefully he would find something that could be used to weave it down along the banks.

When he could not see anyone coming and the last group visible was at some distance, he stepped out of the trees and walked with a brisk stride down to the road and across. As he entered the field of flowers, his pace slowed. The growth was so thick that it was hard to walk, stems and blossoms striking his legs at every step. By the time he reached the river's edge, his hakama were yellow with pollen and the path he had trodden clearly visible as a heavy dark slash through the vivid growth.

Most of the river bank was too abrupt to allow heavy grass to grow, but he found some beneath two willows. Green plants would not work as well—they would shrink as they dried and gaps would form—but the resultant hat would do for a while. He used his tanto to cut a large pile of the thick blades (a brief memory of scything rice), and sat down under the willow to weave. Occasionally his attention would wander to the early swallows sweeping their tangled patterns through the air over the water: some of the bugs hidden through winter had begun to emerge. Perhaps the warmth of spring was truly here now.

The warmth of the sun, the dance of the birds, and the chuckle of the river all tempted him to stay and spend the night there once he had finished the kasa, but he decided to try for the village whose smoke he had seen. Rising, he put on his new hat, feeling the coolness of the grass against his hair, and followed his trail back to the road.

'''''''''''''''''''

He had not yet reached it, but squinting into the bright sun of late afternoon Kenshin had already seen that the village was one such as his own had been: merely a collection of family houses. No stores, no inns. However, the trees which thickly covered the hillsides had spread down to the road and onto the other side, thinning as they reached level ground, and amongst them, he could see people moving. Many of the groups he had watched earlier in the day were settling here for the coming night.

Following their lead, Kenshin also moved into the trees. It was obvious that this was a regular stopping-place: much of the growth under the trees had been cleared away and there were blackened fire pits, as well as a public latrine. As he looked for a spot that would suit him, he noticed several men and women moving from group to group, offering food or wood for sale. This village had been fortunate: with their responsibility for maintaining the section of road that passed near them had also come the opportunity to increase both their income and their supply of fertilizer.

A place at the edge of the trees, where the river wound nearer, was very satisfactory. He would bathe and change his clothes tonight. Washing his clothes would have to wait: the night would be pleasant, but too cool for them to dry by morning. He laid out one blanket and set out his pan to mark his place before he went to look for wood. He would have to go back up on the hillside—this area had been picked clean by the villagers.

'''''''''''''''''''

When Kenshin returned to his site, wood roped and riding atop his bundle, more people had arrived. Several families had settled in spaces near his and were busy preparing for the evening. He dropped the wood near the pit and knelt to slide off his pack, only to hear a cheery voice behind him.

"Konban-wa, O-samurai-san!"

Turning, he found a young woman behind him, hair escaping from her kerchief as she balanced the trays of vegetables hanging from her pole. "Perhaps I may interest you in my humble offerings? The vegetables are fresh, and may be a pleasant change from traveler's fare…" Her face was broad and her skin already beginning to age from the sun, but her expression was pleasant and she radiated happiness. Kenshin wondered what it was that made her so joyful, but felt impelled to smile. In this one person's life, **something** was definitely going well.

She was right: he had not had anything truly fresh for three days… He chose some bamboo shoots, some shitake, some early green onions. He was tempted to look longer and buy more just to enjoy her amazingly bright ki a little longer. But he could not afford it and could not waste her time for his own pleasure, so he paid her and reluctantly watched her move on.

With a mental shake, he set his purchases down on the blanket and returned to opening his bundle, rooting around till he found his hook and line. He wrapped his change of clothes and towel in his furoshiki, and closed his bundle back up, leaving it laying on the blanket as he headed for the river.

Some people were already bathing. He followed the course upstream, looking for deeper water close to the shore. Not too much farther was one of the occasional willows, casting its long shadow across the flowers and trailing greening strands in the water. There were swallows there, too….a good sign. If the bugs were swarming, the fish might be rising now for their evening meal. And just past the willow's silted-up roots, the flow of the water had carved a still spot, deeper and in a slight shade.

It was the matter of a moment to find a bug large enough to be useful crawling over the willow's bark, and soon he was seated on the edge of the bank, dropping his hook just below the surface and causing it to skitter. Kenshin was pleased when a fish struck almost immediately. Once he set the hook, he began the contest of wills, allowing part of his sleeve to cover his hand to keep the line from biting in as he pulled and wrapped the slender cord, pitting his strength against the fish's desperation. When it was flipping in the grass, he was pleased again to find that it was a fair-sized fish: he would not need to catch another. That was good, because he still needed to bathe and start his fire before full dark and the sun was very near the horizon.

He pulled up handfuls of grass and laid his catch upon them, bending the blades over and knotting them to make a cool pocket to keep the fish fresh while he bathed, ignoring the gnats that swarmed around him as he did. Gathering up sword, furoshiki and fish, he headed back towards the bathers.

There were more than when he had left: a few families, the mothers standing in the shallows, scrubbing their smaller children while the others waded out deeper;

the group of pilgrims, all with the short hair of widows, were there _en masse_; the samurai was there, too, a little distance from them. Even over the water, the voices were muted, only those who knew each other speaking together. Unlike the local baths where everyone knew each other, here strangers were allowed the privacy of being ignored. Kenshin disrobed and waded in. The water was warmer than he had expected: many of the streams in the mountains still felt like ice. He scrubbed himself with a handful of grit from the bottom, and dunked his head to wash his hair. He moved quickly: with the sun going down, the air was already cooling. He needed to hurry: Kinsei was already visible in the gathering twilight. The other bathers were slowly moving out of the water, a few at a time, dressing and returning to their camps. The mothers were calling to their children, herding them along as their husbands walked ahead. The widows' conversation continued, the lilting sound of their voices almost like a lullaby in the hastening dark.

Dressed once more, his hair almost black from dusk and damp, Kenshin hastened to catch the samurai as he followed his charges. He bowed to the older man.

"Shitsurei shimasu."

The man looked him over with a quick glance and then relaxed with a smile. "Hai?"

"Could you tell me please, are we in Bingo province yet?"

The man laughed and began to move ahead once again, gesturing for Kenshin to come with him. "Not only have we been in Bingo for most of the afternoon, but by tomorrow afternoon—if you keep a steady pace and don't let Shobara tempt you with its inns too early in the day—you'll be at the edge of Aki. Where are you going?"

"Chōshū."

The samurai paused in his stride and looked curiously at Kenshin, "Chōshū? I would have thought a Chōshū samurai would be on his way to Edo."

Kenshin answered the unspoken question, "I was in the earlier fighting. Now, I have matters that draw me back to Chōshū. But I have only been this way once and do not remember it well."

The other man nodded his understanding. He spoke as he looked around and walked over to a bare patch of ground, "As soon as I get the women back to Iwami, I'll be leaving for Edo. We were in the Kanto when things started to get ugly and we decided to return. On the Sanyodo, we got word of the call-up. Once we reached Okayama castle-town and the women and I turned onto the quieter roads, my comrades left to join our troops." Squatting down, he gestured for Kenshin to come over. "Now…" he finished smoothing the dirt and checked to make sure Kenshin was watching as he drew his map, "This is where we are. (He made a circle in the dust.) Here are the mountains. (He drew a line downwards just to the west.) Tomorrow the road will take us through the mountains and into the plain where Shobara and Miyoshi lie." He added two circles for the cities, spaced some distance apart. "Just beyond Miyoshi, running south and west to the edge of Chōshū are more mountains. Basically, you could just follow those mountains. Another option is to take the road south from Miyoshi to Hiroshima and go west from there on the Sanyodo. The route would be a little longer, but probably faster."

He dusted off his hands and stood, the other man rising with him. Standing quietly, looking down at the rough map, the strange samurai seemed very young—even if the scars on his face bore witness to his claim of having been in battle. And in the fading light, it almost seemed as though there were a red cast to his wet hair. It reminded him briefly of a yūjo he had known in Nagasaki who stained her hair to attract those fascinated by Western things. The fleeting impression was forgotten as he met the sober gaze of the youth and received his thanks. Quickly revising his estimate of age, he felt that it might be pleasant to once again have a male companion on the journey, even if only for a day. The widows were all worthy women, but they were women…a decent conversation was impossible.

Bowing slightly he offered, "I am Umehara Tamotsu. If you'd like, travel with us tomorrow, and when we get to Miyoshi, I'll set you on whichever route you choose."

"Hajimemashite. I am Himura Kenshin. Your offer is greatly appreciated, but one is concerned at the inconvenience that may be caused to your honored self…"

The respectful tone pleased Umehara and he pressed Kenshin to accept. Once he had agreed, it was set that Kenshin would join their group on the road as they left at dawn.

"The women are samurai, for the most part, and understand my need to hurry. They won't slow us down." Startling Kenshin with a light slap on the back, Umehara bowed and left to join the widows at their campsite, as Kenshin made his way back to his own.

Campfires flickered through the trees as Kenshin built his own and set his fish to roasting. He chopped his fresh vegetables and let them steam in the same pan as his rice, as the sounds of the settling evening washed gently over him. The occasional high tones of a child echoed the call of a bird from the village. The lower notes of the adults blended with the murmur of the river close by. His own fire popped and snapped and mesmerized him with its dance. He remembered the tense nights of waiting--and killing--amidst trees, and was grateful for the peace.

'''''''''''

It was as he boiled the water for tea that Kenshin noticed the boys. There were perhaps nine of them, all under about eleven, gathering where the light of the fires was dimmest. He was mildly concerned that they might be planning some mischief, as they huddled there together in the dark. But as they settled and quieted, he recognized from the rhythm of speech of the one talking that a story was being told. Unashamedly listening as he stirred in the tea and set it down to cool slightly, he found, to his surprise, that it was difficult to follow. The pronunciation was odd and there were words he didn't recognize. Where were these children from?

He was familiar with Edo speech, and those of the Kinai and west into Chōshū, but this was something he had never heard…Had they come down from the north?

He listened as he sipped his tea and watched the quarter moon as it winked at him through the branches. After a while, he was able to catch the pattern of the sounds and the words became more intelligible, though there were still gaps. He could follow much of the current story, and recognized it as a tale of obake that he had heard when he was young, about O-kiku and the plates. The storyteller had just come to the point where she was counting them.

"Ichi…ni…san…shi…go…roku…shichi…hachi…ku…." The wail of the boy when he reached the broken tenth plate was impressive. People around the nearer fires started and looked about with alarm, only to settle again when one of the fathers called a warning to the boys to quiet down. Kenshin had to listen harder as they lowered their voices. The boy's version varied from the one he had heard before: he did not remember O-kiku's fingers being cut off, one by one before she was thrown down the well. As a boy, the tale had been scary. As a man well acquainted with blood and pain, he found it revolting and stopped listening, choosing instead to go down to the river to wash his dishes in the moonlight.

When he returned, the boys were still there, but the tale and the teller had changed. As he banked his fire for the night and settled against the tree with his blanket around him, the words 'Dan-no-ura' and 'Heike' caught his ear. That battle had occurred in Chōshū long ago…As Kenshin drew up his legs and listened to the young boy's story of a blind minstrel chanting the song of the battle to the ghosts of those who had fought, he watched other fires through the trees, silhouettes passing before them and vanishing into the shadows as though they were ghosts as well. He laid his hand on the sakabatou next to him; it was warm from the fire. So many battles over so many years. So many dead. His dead were often restless, calling to him in dreams that would haunt him through his mornings.

Determinedly, he leaned his head back against the trunk and closed his eyes. He had relaxed and was drifting…just about to fall asleep, when he was pulled awake by an all-too-familiar word: _hitokiri_. Hissed in a highly dramatic fashion by a boy, it should have been amusing, but Kenshin found himself as alert and tense as if it had been the curse of an enemy. _What tale is this?_

"The hitokiri slew the man with a single stroke, and left his head to be found on Nanbabashi bridge. But the ears had been removed. Other heads were found displayed around Kyōto, of people with only the slightest connection to the Bakufu. Even women were not safe if they were suspect. Children died if they were in the way." _That was Izo the Butcher. He was executed soon after Kinmon no Hen. Has he become obake, then?_ But the boy continued on:

"He would kill anyone. In fact, he enjoyed the blood and the killing so much that his masters could no longer control him and he killed whoever and whenever he wanted." _That sounds like Udo Jin-e. Katsura warned against using him when he left the Shinsengumi…So is this about Izo or Jin-e? Neither should be remembered._

"They say he is a demon with changing eyes that pierce you and freeze you so you cannot escape." –_Changing eyes!—_"He has no human feelings and seeks only death for all around him. All who have seen him have died: no one knows what he looks like. It is said that he just disappeared one day. He could be dead, or truly a demon. He could be adding to the dead in Edo, or he could be in Ezo." The hair on Kenshin's neck prickled with a premonition of what would come next. "Hitokiri Battousai could be anywhere, ready to cut some one down just to watch them die…even here!"

In the shock of realization, Kenshin dropped his head to his knees. _It is not Izo who is obake, nor Udo. It is myself. _

_Does it matter that it was not me who killed women and children? That I did not dismember bodies already dead to send grisly testaments of 'Tenchū'? The question is: would I have done it if Katsura had commanded? When Tomoe asked, I told her 'no', but if she had not been there…would that 'no' have changed to 'yes' as I continued killing? Battousai's singleness of intent, his suspension of thought, was my only protection as the numbers grew. Even **I** wondered about my sanity. Perhaps Battousai would have begun to murder randomly…… They are right: Battousai was not human._

He took a deep, shuddering breath and steadied himself, raising his head and looking at the sakabatou clenched in a white-knuckled grip. _But **I **am **not** Hitokiri Battousai. It no longer matters what is said of him. **I** am Himura Kenshin and **I** do not kill._

The young voices droned on, oblivious to the pain they had caused their secret listener. Kenshin shook off his blanket and rose, returning again to the river.

The moon's unsteady reflection balanced on the dark ripples of current as he watched, finding his own equilibrium, as he had done so many nights. When he went out 'hunting' on nights like this, he had always sought to make the kill as clean as possible. One swift strike with his finely-honed blade left little time for fear or pain. His lack of hesitation had been a mercy for his victims. He should thank the gods that he had never been given such orders as Izo. Thank the gods? Or Katsura? Or perhaps Ito had never been given such orders…Perhaps both Ito and Jin-e had fallen victim to the same distortion of reality that he had been slipping into before Tomoe came. He had not saved her … but she had saved him.

Slow tears dimmed the moon's glow as he looked up. He was so grateful. To Tomoe for reining him in and turning him around. For Katsura who let him stop before he ran headlong into self-annihilation. He looked down at the sakabatou, dark and dull in its saya, a manifestation of possibility. Raising his head once again, he saw the faint glow of lights from the village, safe in the lee of the mountains. Behind him, his fellow travelers went about domestic tasks, safe in the security of their fires and their numbers, unaware that he who had been Hitokiri Battousai truly **was** among them.

A whisper of moving air tickled his cheek and breathed in his ear and for a moment, it was as though she were there, whispering to him. But he could not understand what she said, and then the breeze and the moment were gone. Kenshin sighed, and turned back to his fire.

'''''''''''''

Not all who had camped chose to leave at dawn. Those who had risen before the sun went about their business quietly so that others could sleep. The few children awake were shushed quickly when their voices rose too loudly. Kenshin was packed and fed and sitting at the edge of the road watching the rosy-gold eastern sky when the samurai and the widows emerged with their porters from the trees. Umehara looked pleased to find him waiting and called out an enthusiastic greeting.

"Ohayō gozaimasu! A new day and a clear sky! We'll make good time!" He rubbed his hands with satisfaction as Kenshin bowed briefly and returned his greeting.

Introductions were made as the porters stood waiting and then they began their journey. Kenshin had expected Umehara to take the lead while he trailed behind as rearguard and was bemused to find that after proceeding only about 5 ken, Umehara dropped back to walk with him.

"Please excuse my foolish question, Umehara-san…the little that I know comes from fighting rather than escorting, but should not one of us be at the front?" Kenshin phrased it as carefully as he could, but still got a sharp look from Umehara which he met with an inquiring expression. The samurai stared at him a moment--deciding whether Kenshin's comment was sarcastic--, but then smiled and waved his hand in an expansive gesture.

"This is a quiet road, used mainly by farmers and a few merchants. We can see well ahead of us until we come to the foot of the mountains. In the narrow pass, I will go ahead. Our few porters carry only our food and basic clothing; there is little to tempt anyone."

Kenshin refrained from pointing out that the women alone would be enough temptation for some. He was here by invitation and Umehara was more familiar with these roads and their dangers than he. And the samurai had been considered competent enough by his fellows to be left alone as the women's guide.

So he followed along behind the women and porters, grateful that the season was still young enough that he was not covered in dust. He felt a bit as though they were herding geese, walking along and watching the women—who had been so formal during introductions—talking and laughing as they went, sleeves fluttering like wings as they gestured. He answered his companion's questions about the battles he'd been in with half of his attention. Being at least nominally part of the escort, he could not refrain from constantly scanning their surroundings, watching for any threat.

Umehara was enjoying their conversation. Here was someone who truly knew about battle! Himura-san spoke little of his own part in the fighting, but had seen the methods and strategy used. He had stood in front of the guns, and watched the fires burn! Even now, Umehara could feel his alertness, his caution, and noticed that his hand often rested on his sword. His eyes were constantly moving, roving from women to hillside to field. Once he had fought in Edo, would Umehara himself have that edge, that extreme watchfulness? He was older than Himura-san, known and respected for his sword skills. He had participated in settling some of the minor riots by farmers in Iwami. But he had never been in battle. He envied Himura-san.

''''''''''''

They settled along the verge for lunch, the mountain pass behind them and Shobara only a few ri ahead. The porters opened the baskets of food and moved off a little distance to eat their own meal while the women hastened to serve Kenshin and Umehara, before settling to eat, themselves. The older man was bemused at the way one or another of the women would keep rising and coming over to offer some additional tidbit for their pleasure, all the while glancing at Kenshin from modestly lowered eyes. Himura-san seemed completely unaware that this was unusual behavior, he realized.

One of the women approached them, this time with an unglazed jar. Kneeling before them, she offered, "Umehara-san, Himura-san…may this Wani offer you some cool barley water? It is of indifferent quality, but may serve to wash the dust of travel from your throat…"

Umehara readily held out his cup. He had done a lot of talking that morning. At some point, Himura-san had seemed to run out of words, but had been a good listener. He was enjoying the company.

Once his cup was full, the woman turned to Kenshin. As she poured, she delicately pulled her sleeve out of the way, revealing more than usual of her forearm.

Umehara glanced at Kenshin to see if he noticed this flirtatious gesture, but he was merely thanking her, his face serious. The woman bowed and rose, retreating back to the group. Muffled giggles ensued, hidden behind sleeves.

Umehara nodded towards them. "That woman-- Wani-san….she was geisha before she married. Now she is a wealthy widow with no family." He was disappointed to get no more reaction than a nod and an "Ah, sō ka?" …Perhaps Himura-san was not interested in women….

Umehara stretched and popped his neck. "We're making good time. We should be at Miyoshi by the hour of the Sheep. There'll be plenty of time for baths before dinner. Looking up, he remarked, "Not a cloud in the sky. You'd never guess it from the fog in the mornings. This valley's known for it: the Sea of Fog. Happens every spring and fall." Himura-san looked interested, so he continued.

"People come to Miyoshi from all around just to see it. You climb up one of the mountains behind the town the day before, because you have to get up before the sun to see it: it burns off once the sun's full up. But it's quite a sight: the valley just disappears."

''''''''''''

Umehara had been right in all his predictions, Kenshin acknowledged. The sun still had a long way to the horizon when they reached Miyoshi. And the journey had been uneventful. The samurai had been pleasant company, if talkative. For part of the time, he had only half listened, making interested noises at appropriate times, while he decided what he would do next.

As they made their way through the town, Umehara stopped at a busy crossroad. "This is the road you'll need to follow if you are going to Hiroshima and the Sanyodo. Our road is farther on." He began walking again.

"And if I wanted to see this 'Sea of Fog'?" Kenshin asked.

"You'll need to go clear through the town." He pointed ahead of them to where a mountain loomed. "That's the one you want. Follow us to the inn and then keep on going. As soon as you are out of the town, you'll see the trail leading up. Are you leaving us now, then? You'll want to get up the mountain before dark."

"Hai. I will take your advice and take the Hiroshima road, but if the Sea of Fog is such a famous sight, I would like to see it."

Their way to the inn took them through the marketplace and the women requested an opportunity to spend a few moments looking for necessary items. Kenshin and Umehara walked over to the kosatsu that stood in the midst of the market to read the notices. The government had created 4 new military divisions with the levied troops and placed them under the direction of the Eastern Expeditionary High Command. It was with a sinking feeling that Kenshin saw the notice regarding the execution of the 'officers' of the Sekihotai. Umehara drew his attention to an Imperial edict: any samurai who attacked a foreigner would be required to surrender his daishō and would be removed from the rolls of samurai. He would be beheaded and the head would be exposed 3 days.

"And that,' the older man said, "Is the end of sonnoi-joi. May the Emperor be always wise in his decisions."

'''''''''''''''

Nightfall found Kenshin atop the mountain, watching the last vestiges of the sunset. In a few more days, he would be in Chōshū. Be at the village that had been his home. He was not sure what he would do once he got there….only that he needed to go there. To see it. To see the memorial markers of his family one more time. Beyond that, he could not see.

The moon was larger tonight. He could actually have stayed with Umehara and the women a little longer—they had encouraged him to have dinner with them—and used the moonlight to see the path, but he had been ready to move on, ready for silence. He had not even stayed at the small shrine where the others on the trail had stopped. He paused only long enough to be respectful to the kami and then entered the trees, seeking his own vantage point from which to watch this wonder.

It was cooler up here. The only noise was an occasional swish of the pine branches in the sporadic evening breeze that ruffled his hair. Once he heard a night hawk. The lights of the town were multiplying, mere pinpoints from this distance. Before the sun had set, he could see Shobara, far off. Now the plain was dark and empty, save for Miyoshi below him. The simplicity of his meal--a couple of rice balls and some tea—suited his surroundings. Suited him. In the morning, once he had seen what there was to see, he would search once more for useful herbs. Mountain herbs should be of some value in Hiroshima. But for now, he would sit, and let the silent night fill him.

''''''''''''''

Even before he opened his eyes, his waking senses told him that the dampness of his clothes was dew, not sweat. And the weapon shoved into his back was the rock against which he had propped himself last night. He sat, eyes closed, letting his breathing settle and the night-horrors retreat. It used to surprise him to find himself still in the same place—often in the same position—when he woke: after one of his nightmares, his body always felt that he had pushed it to extremes…as indeed he had in the battles fought in his mind. Behind his eyelids, he could tell that it was still dark, but the dew and the fresh smell told him that morning was near. It was a luxury to let himself wake slowly…

He opened his eyes to a moonless sky, lightening just a little in the east. Rising and stretching, he walked to the edge. Almost at his feet, it seemed, was a vague paleness that he assumed was the fog. There was nothing more to be seen yet. He retreated to the clear space that was his 'camp' and drew the sakabatou. Performing kata in the dark demanded more attention to balance, to footing, to sensing the change in the air around objects. He moved slowly, concentrating, feeling his muscles stretch and warm. When the east had paled to hydrangea blue, he sheathed his sword and walked out once again, only to pause mid-stride, awed by the sight that met his eyes.

He was no longer on a mountain. He found himself on the rocky shore of a pearlescent sea that stretched east and south into the distance before him. The waters were calm and he was the only one in the world. _Everything behind me has vanished! There are no more mountains, no road, no towns…It is as though It all never existed! _Only the place he stood remained. And the lucent sea, shifting gently, slowly.

_What if it were possible for the memories of all those places to vanish as well?_ _No Tsuyama, no Kyōtō, no Otsu. No hitokiri, no accusing faces, no forest of binding, no slaughter on the road. To have peace of mind…_

The golden eye of the sun winked over the horizon and the waves were pink and saffron, surging higher, but receding farther. Little pine-covered islands began to appear. He could see a ridge of mountains…

_But if all my memories of those places were to disappear, there would be no Katsura, no Shishou,…no Tomoe…_

As the sun rose higher, the fog roiled and shifted, and finally evanesced. Once again he could see the valley with the road he had traveled. The road that would take him to Hiroshima and Chōshū was also visible in the clear morning light.

The illusion had been beautiful; he would carry the image with him forever. But it had been a lonely view: isolated, with no way to move forward. He would choose reality over illusion.

He would keep his memories, good and bad.


	6. Chapter 6 Choshu Arrival

**Still don't own it (except the villagers and his family). Still wish I did. **(You try explaining to my mother why I spend so much time writing something I don't get paid for…)

**Please note: Ages in this chapter are in kazoedoshi., or old Japanese reckoning. **This means that even though ages may look two years apart, there may be much less difference, or even a little more. It's also why they say Kenshin was 10 when sold. (One of these days I'm going back to the early chapters and fixing them so all the chapters conform to the same standards.)

We are a little ways into **Third Month,** folks, which runs from March 25 through April 22. And yes, I made a mistake on Ch. 5: Second Month actually ran from Feb. 25 to March 24

**For those of you who are interested**, you can find a map of the village at http/olderwoman. under 'scraps' 

**Vocab**.(what fun!):

banya—watch-house

shoya—village head

hour of the Monkey—roughly, 3-5 p.m. (changes as the days lengthen and shorten)

konban-wa—good late afternoon/early evening

kaso—the 'luck' or fortune of a house, that has to do with its layout

kimon—northeasterly direction or 'Demon Gate' in Japanese and Chinese mythology

roushi--masterless samurai ( a somewhat better connotation than ronin)

Yamaguchi—the town in Chōshū where Katsura's office was

kenshi-- swordsman

O-Bon—festival of the dead (held in August in rural areas)

Dozo yoroshiku o negai shimasu—"Please treat me kindly," said upon a first meeting

doma—section of a house at ground level with beaten earth or clay floor used as entry/work area/kitchen

irori—a pit hearth set into the floor

jizai-kagi—long vertical pole in the irori that has an adjustable-height hook, used for holding cooking pots, etc., over the fire

kitsune no youkai—demon fox

Mōshiwake arimasen—"I have no excuse. I am sorry."

Sho ga nai—"It can't be helped." (said about something that can't be undone)

tasuki—the cord used to tie back sleeves

suge gasa—wide, flat-ish straw hat of a farmer

akami—the raw dark red meat of a tuna, used for sashimi

bishounen—oh, come on, don't all females know this one? Gorgeous guy.

biseinen—same thing, only older (over 17-18, say?)

kosode—basic man's kimono, of any length

**Other explanations** (you can skip all this if it bores you, you know) 'auspicious days'—in the Japanese calendar there are days that carry good or bad fortune. Naturally, you would choose one of the 'good fortune' days to start something important.

"Children and formality: It's quite arbitrary what the boundaries of childhood and adulthood were in those days, but generally, 12 would be a good age for them to begin to learn the proper forms of address. Children would not use the formal modes of speech."

"…another quirk of Japanese culture and language: saying 'I love you' seems unusual. It's a very recent thing that the phrase has become more common in Japan, but even then, there are so many different degrees of love that there is no one phrase like in English that has universal use. Often, people would not express "love" in a direct way but it would be implied in different ways, even between a parent and child." (Thanks to **misaki toyodome**, again! I am sooooo lucky to have her help!)

And thanks to** praisedivinemercy** for her comments.

**Chōshū--Arrival**

By older woman

Noriya studied the boxes of seedlings ranged alongside his house. If the weather continued good, they would grow rapidly. The hoes had been sharpened, the ground was still soft from recent rain, and tomorrow was an auspicious day for beginnings. They would break the fields tomorrow. He stretched and sighed. With the domain increasing the rice levy this year, it was important that the harvest be a good one.

The sound of rapid footsteps approaching his yard caught his attention. Looking around, he saw Makio nearing the gate. The shoya frowned; what had brought Makio down from the banya? He was not running…

"Noriya-san, there is a man watching the village." As Makio came up, he made his report in a normal voice, but his face was perplexed. "We didn't think anything of it at first, but he has been there since the start of the hour of the Monkey. He's not hiding, just sitting and watching. We think he may be ronin."

Noriya had been about to brush off his friend's concern, but paused at this. Could the man be a scout for robbers? It would be strange for him to be so brazen, but why else would he watch them? They were too far off the main track for anyone to just wander in unless the person was lost. And if he was lost, he'd come down and ask for help… An assessor or any other official would come right in, too.

"Samurai, you say?"

"Hai. We think. He wears hakama and carries a sword. But it seems to be a single sword and he has no servant with him."

Noriya's eyes had been scanning the hillside as they spoke, and finally saw the man about a third of a cho above the banya. But he was no longer sitting: he was coming down well to its side, through the thinning trees. From his vantage point, he had obviously seen Makio leave the hut and make his way to Noriya.

The shoya retrieved his staff from where it leaned against the house and began walking, too, angling away from the line of houses and up through the wildflowers to intercept the man before he actually entered the village. He heard Makio fall in behind him at a little distance. If there was trouble, he would be glad to have Makio's fighting ability as well.

As the man emerged from the trees, moving quickly on the steep slope, Noriya was finally able to see him clearly. He was a slight man, wearing a common indigo kimono and grey hakama. His head was covered by a kasa, hiding most of his face, and he did carry a single sword. What did he want?

The three men slowed as they neared each other, Makio hanging back a little to allow the others privacy, but still ready should he be needed. When only a few feet separated them, Noriya bowed to the smaller man.

"Konban-wa, O-samurai –san. Is there some way in which this person can assist you?"

The samurai stood silent for several long seconds, his eyes hidden behind the grille. Finally, he reached up and pushed the kasa off his head. Noriya stared at the red hair and violet eyes--vivid in the late afternoon light--and his jaw dropped.

"Oro! Sh…Shinta-kun?"

"Hai. Though my name now is Himura Kenshin."

Those unforgettable eyes watched him as he stood speechless. How could the boy his father sold as a slave become samurai? Or had he run away and stolen a disguise? Was he here for revenge? The child Shinta had been honest and forgiving, but this man's eyes held darkness. He must be cautious…

He bowed again, "Himura-san, please forgive this person! This one intended no insult. It was merely the surprise…" To his astonishment, the smaller man seemed to relax and the eyes no longer felt so piercing.

"None is taken, Noriya-san. I knew my arrival might cause…anxiety. That is one reason I hesitated to approach. …" Looking past him at Makio, Himura commented, "The village seems prosperous these days. The orchard is doing well."

The older man took the hint. "Aa. The last few years have been good ones." Noriya could hear Makio shift slightly behind him—probably wondering what was being said. "Ano…would you care to enter this one's house? It is a miserable place, but refreshment could be taken…" And they could be private, away from village eyes and ears.

"Hai. Arigatou gozaimasu. That would be pleasant."

Himura fell into step next to him as Noriya turned to lead him to the house. Passing Makio, Noriya sent him back to the banya.

''''''''''''''

Kenshin had no words to describe the flux of emotions that continued to shift inside him. In his head, the village had been frozen in time. To see it now, unchanged in initial impression, but with myriad minor discrepancies, created a feeling of disorientation. Even sitting here, in Noriya-san's house, the passing of time was evident: he was sitting in the place of honor rather than laboring for the family and it was Noriya-san that faced him as shoya, rather than Hideo, his father.

Adding to his own disquiet was the suspicion that surged from Noriya. They sat silently on the cushions that had been placed for them by Noriya's wife as she poured tea and set small dishes of rice crackers before them while stealing furtive little glances. Once she retired into the kitchen, sliding the door closed behind her, Noriya spoke:

"Himura-san, this person does not wish to be intrusive, but hopes that you will make known your reason for coming here."

"You do not need to worry; it was no grudge." Noriya gave a slight start—had he been so obvious? "I have come to visit my family's graves…" The doubt—quickly hidden--that the man felt was visible to Kenshin's watching eyes. _How will he feel once I ask?_

He still did not know exactly why he was here. He did want to visit the graves, but surely that would not account for the immense urge to run down into the town that he had restrained with such difficulty. Nor would it explain the conviction that had grown steadily in him during the hours he had sat and watched his village…

"…and I would like to stay here a while."

The sip of tea that Noriya was taking caught in his throat, and he set the cup down carefully. If there was no grudge, why would he wish to stay here? "Himura-san! You know our houses! There is nothing here appropriate for samurai."

Kenshin waved his hand in denial. "As you say, I know the houses. If I lived in one before, it will not bother me to stay in one again. But I do not wish to inconvenience anyone, or cause hardship. While I am here, I will pay for what I use."

"And how long do you think you will stay?" Noriya did not look welcoming, despite the offer of money. _He can be as intimidating as his father. But I am no longer a young boy…and I have lived with Shishou, who can be more intimidating than anyone._

"I have no idea." He felt rather guilty at creating such a dilemma, but truly had no more of an answer. He would stay until whatever had compelled him to come released its hold. He returned the stare, unwavering.

Noriya called to his wife for more tea and sat head down, his hands braced on his knees, considering, while she served them and left once again. Finally, he looked up. "We will all be very busy: planting season is nearly here. The best this Noriya can offer is a house to yourself, and perhaps a child to serve you."

Kenshin gave a quick shake of his head. "Iie. The offer is appreciated, but I have no need of a servant. And I have no wish to put anyone out of their home."

The older man stroked his mustache thoughtfully. "Actually, there is an empty house. But you may not wish to stay there; people don't. They say the kaso is bad. It is the house your family lived in."

_I'm not surprised. Even when we lived there, people said it was unlucky. Kimon, they said. But Otōsan did not believe in such things. Are the gods laughing? Are they the ones who have brought me back?_ He felt a faint chill at the thought, but pushed it aside.

"I will take it. And I will help in the fields in return."

Noriya chewed his thumb. "Ano…if you are going to stay any length of time, this one will have to report your presence and you will have to take a place in one of the five-man groups. You will also have to register at the temple if you are roushi."

"I am not roushi." He reached into his kimono and withdrew the leather folder that held his warrant. Setting aside the small table that held his dishes, he placed the warrant on the floor between them.

Noriya leaned forward to pick it up and called to his wife to remove their tables. As she retreated yet again, he unfolded the paper. Samurai after all-- if he had not forged it; it was well that he'd been careful. "Katsura Kogoro!" he exclaimed in amazement. "He is your lord?"

"I have served him for several years. Now he has allowed me leave for my own business." Noriya would give much to know just what business that was, but did not dare press further. Perhaps he would make inquiries, just to be sure the warrant was valid…

The conversation seemed to have run its course. Before the silence could become awkward, Kenshin inquired, "Is your esteemed mother still alive? If she is, I would like to offer my respect to Yasu-baasama."

"Hai. She is with us and in good health, thank the gods. This Noriya will take you to her." The shoya stood and moved to the door that led to the kitchen. As they entered, Kenshin was aware of voices abruptly stopping. Noriya's wife, Fumi-san, was sitting by the stove with a girl of about 15. _Is that Kin!_ But Noriya had crossed the small space to an open doorway on the other side and was speaking to the person within. Kenshin approached and felt time slip back to see her seated by her wheel spinning, just as she had been the last time he saw her…

----He was weeding what little was left of the garden while trying to keep four-year-old Kin from pulling up the wrong things when Fumi-san called him. Since he had come into Hideo-san's household, Kin had followed him everywhere he went, copying everything he did. It was awkward, because Fumi-san did not like to see it. Actually, Fumi-san did not like to see **him** since Shozo had died. He had accidentally overheard her complaining to Noriya-san that Kin was forgetting her brother already. But Baba-sama had told her to be still. Later, Baba-sama had told him not to worry about it.

But he did worry. He did not want to make anyone unhappy. There was enough unhappiness already with so many dead from the cholera. But if he made Kin happy, Fumi-san wasn't. If he made Fumi-san happy, Kin and Baba-sama weren't. He was always uncomfortable, except when he was helping Baba-sama.

"Shinta! Yasu-san wants you to come to her. Right now! Kin-chan, come with Kaa-san; you've gotten very dirty." With an accusing glare, she swept up her daughter and returned to the house. Kenshin rose and brushed the dirt from his clothes, walking to the basin to rinse his hands and feet before entering the house. He found Baba-sama busy as always, spinning cotton thread. He bowed and took his usual place by her basket of cotton rolls. But she stopped her wheel and turned to face him. Startled by her serious expression, Kenshin shifted to seiza, unconsciously reverting to the habits instilled during his father's lessons.

"Shinta-chan. I need to speak to you." She paused and took a slow breath before continuing. "You know how bad things have been since Fifth Month: the rains and flood have ruined the rice and the cholera has killed many of us, so there are fewer to work. The village cannot pay the assigned taxes this year. We have very little food. Do you understand this?"

He looked back at her, eyes solemn and sad. "Hai. I understand."

"But we must pay as many of our debts as we can. To do this, it has been decided to sell all the belongings of those who have died. We will be poorer than ever, and some of us may die this winter. Do you understand this?"

He nodded, a lump in his throat, remembering.

"Hideo-san has decided that it would be best for the village—and for you—to sell you." At his horrified expression, Yasu leaned forward and gathered him into her arms. Her voice was shaky as she continued. "Shinta-chan. It is not what we would like for you, but it will keep you alive and keep you away from those here who blame you for our misfortunes. If you are obedient and pleasant, you may live very comfortably. Please understand."

And he did understand, even as he tried not to cry. Hideo-san and Baba-sama had been his parents' friends. They had been kind to him. They would not do this if it was not necessary.

And so, when the men came, he went quietly, not looking back.----

The memory fell away as she looked up at him, squinting a bit. "Himura-san?" she repeated in amazement. Her hair was streaked with white and her back was starting to curve, but her hand, when she waved him over, was as energetic as ever. "Come over here and sit down in front of me. Your name may have changed, but there's only one person with hair that color!"

Kenshin knelt before the older woman and bowed. "Baba-sama, this Kenshin is gratified to find you in good health."

"Kenshin, is it? Let me look at you properly. When you were standing at the door, your face was all fuzzy: my eyes are not as good as they were." She took his face in both her hands and studied it closely. Noriya left the room at that, sliding the door behind him. He would definitely write to Yamaguchi…

"You have become a beautiful man! But your eyes are old…and that is a dreadful scar." Her fingers stroked his marred cheek gently. "There's a tale here. How does one go from slave to samurai?"

So he told her his story, greatly expurgated, beginning with the fact that he had been slave only for those weeks of traveling before being taken in by Shishou to train as kenshi. He could not avoid telling of the massacre, but passed over it quickly. He did not tell her at all of the assassinations or of his marriage. He did not lie, but told her only that he served Katsura with his sword, to bring the Emperor back to power once again. He allowed himself to speak of his hopes for the new government.

At the end of his tale, they sat silent for a moment. Then she reached out and patted his knee. "I have always known that you were marked by the gods. When you left, I knew that somehow it would work out for the best.--- Himura Kenshin!" She spoke the name with triumph.

Kenshin shook his head._ Marked by the gods? Perhaps. But for good, or ill? Did it 'work out for the best'? _"It does not seem right for you to be calling me that, Baba-sama. From your mouth, the name should be Shinta-chan."

She hid her mouth as she laughed, an oddly girlish gesture for a grandmother. But when she looked up, her eyes were moist. "Iie. I will use Himura-san. You have earned it. And your father would be so pleased: you have given your family back their name!" She picked her cotton back up, as though she had sat idle too long, and gave the wheel a push. Teasing the fibers out and watching them twist, she asked, "So. What are you doing here?"

He was taken aback by her abrupt change. "I have come to bow before my family's graves."

She gave him a considering stare. "That can be done in less than a day, Himura-san. My son said that you plan to stay for a while. How can you leave your lord for so long? Do not waste yourself here." A thought seemed to strike her. "Or is it that you wish to be here for O-Bon?"

As she said the words, something seemed to resonate inside him. "O-Bon! Yes…I think that may be why I came."

The woman pursed her mouth. "Tch. Keep your secrets, then. I may be older, but I have not grown foolish. Your eyes tell me that there is more…"

Kenshin rubbed his neck. _Baba-sama could always tell…just like Okaasan._ She took pity on his discomfort and reassured him, "Everyone has their secrets, Himura-san. And it is not fitting for a man to tell a woman everything…" With that, she raised her voice and called, "Kin-chan! Come here, please!"

The door opened and the young girl peeked in, "Hai, Baa-sama?" Her eyes strayed to Kenshin and then fled back to her grandmother's face.

"Do you remember Himura-san? You followed him everywhere. Though his name was Shinta then."

The girl lowered her eyes as she stammered, "I think…I'm not sure…Maybe?" Her face turned pink with embarrassment as her voice faded out.

"Well, you were very young. He's staying in the village for a while. Please find him one of our chōchin. And a bucket. He'll need them for the house." As Kin ducked her head in a quick bow and disappeared, Yasu turned back to Kenshin. "Is there anything else that you'll need tonight? We can feed you dinner."

"I think that may not be wise. Noriya-san is doubtful of my motives, and Fumi-san…"

"Phff. Fumi-san will be fine. Before, she was afraid you would replace her son, but now she has another, Norikazu. He was born the year after you left. And my son will settle down. He tends to be overly careful. When his father died he was only 31 and did not want to give anyone cause for complaint over such a young shoya."

Kenshin nodded his understanding. "Still, I will not try their patience. I am most grateful for your kind offer, but I do have food with me. I will be fine tonight."

He rose to his feet and bowed, just as Kin reappeared in the doorway with the requested items. Faced with him so near, she blushed again and looked down to where his hands stretched out to take them from her. With an incoherent murmur, she surrendered the things and backed away into the kitchen, bowing. Hearing what sounded suspiciously like a snort behind him, he turned and looked back at Yasu. But she only bowed in return and wished him a good evening, her eyes glinting with humor.

When he left the room, he was met once again by Noriya. As they left the house and stepped down into the yard, the older man informed him, "Tomorrow we'll start preparing the fields for the rice. If Himura-san means to help, this Noriya will provide a hoe for his use. Do you wish Noriya to accompany you to the house?"

Kenshin shook his head and replied, "This Kenshin is grateful for your help and your welcome. I will not impose on you longer…" He was careful not to let any irony tinge his words. Bowing, he walked out into the village's single street and was nearly knocked over by a boy of about 10 who was hurrying along. The child made a hasty bow and muttered a "gomen nasai" before he looked up to see whom he had bumped. His eyes widened as he took in the red hair and sword and his mouth hung slightly open.

"Norikazu, I assume? Hajimemashite. I am Himura Kenshin." The boy looked even more amazed and bowed again, jerkily.

"Dozo yoroshiku o negai shimasu. Yes, I am Norikazu. But how did the honored Himura-san know?"

Kenshin raised a hand and rubbed his nose to cover a slight smile. "There is no other house past this one. And I …am acquainted with your family." Before he could say anything else, Noriya came to the gate and called to his son. With another bow and a reluctant expression, the boy left him with a "sumi masen." Kenshin looked at Noriya's bland expression for a moment and then continued on his way.

The sun was down and the air was already cooling slightly. The fields were nearly empty; most of the people were home now, doors standing open to the evening. He could hear childish voices raised to catch their parents' attention and the muted clatter of pans as the women prepared the evening meal. He walked quietly, feeling the strangeness of being here once again where so much was familiar. He was tempted to turn his head-- to look at the people sitting outside or watch those inside going about their evening routine—but kept his eyes focused on the way ahead. Tomorrow he would find out how many there were left that remembered him. He did not see those few who paused to stare and rub their eyes, wondering at what they had seen pass their house.

''''''''''

The house was his, but not. He had noticed from the hillside that the houses were now raised more than a shaku from the ground, a precaution that he assumed was a result of the great flood that had destroyed not only the fields, but damaged nearly all of the houses. The beaten earth doma was gone: everything was on the same level now. The steep stairs that had led to the tiny, windowless place under the roof where he and Aiko and Shinshū had slept were also gone. He looked around, trying to adjust his memories to this new space. The irori with its jizai-kagi was where it had always been. It was full of ancient ash and charcoal: whoever had lived here last had not cleaned it out when they left. A pole for the roof vent was propped in the corner. Spiders had built webs between the ceiling beams and leaves had blown in through the slatted windows. There was nothing else…

He used the bucket and a stick to clean out the fire pit, dumping the ashes in the same corner of the yard that had always been used, almost expecting to hear his mother calling to him to be careful how he dumped them, lest the ashes fly up and blow over the laundry. Saving the largest pieces of charcoal and gathering wood from the edges of the trees, he started a fire just as it was getting too dark to see. He had knocked down the webs and roughly swept the floor with a leafy branch, when he heard a young voice outside, calling to him.

Kenshin went out and found Norikazu standing at the foot of the steps, arms laden with broom, cloths, and chōchin. The boy bowed awkwardly and explained, "Obaasan thought of some more things that you might need, Himura-san." As Kenshin relieved him of his burden, Norikazu looked around and asked in an awestruck voice, "Are you really going to stay here, Himura-san?"

"Aa." He answered, busy as he set the things down inside the door.

"But…but it's haunted! No one stays here long: they hear scary noises at night. And a whole family died here a long time ago, killed by a kitsune no youkai who came through the Demon's Gate!"

Kenshin straightened rapidly and whirled around, asking harshly, "Where did you hear such things?" Seeing how the boy shrank from him, he consciously relaxed and moderated his tone. "Who told you such stories? There is no truth to them. The house is at the end of the village: the strange noises are probably just animals in the trees, coming to the water. Or the wind, blowing around the corner. I used to live here. It…it was **my **family that died. But it was from the cholera the year so many others died—not from a kitsune."

Norikazu looked horrified and fell to his knees, bowing to the earth. "Mōshiwake arimasen, Himura-san! Norikazu was foolish to speak of such things. I do not know where the story was heard, but all the children know it."

"Sho ga nai." Kenshin sighed to himself, and sat down on the steps. "It is all right, Norikazu-kun. Go home now, and tell Obaasan that I thank her for her thoughtfulness. And thank you for bringing the things to me."

He watched as the boy scrambled up, bowed in farewell, and trotted down the street, chōchin bouncing at every step. His shoulders slumped with weariness and his hands hung slack between his knees. He feared he knew all too well where the story had originated, no matter who had told it to Norikazu. _Can O-Ine-san still be alive? She seemed ancient even then. Or was her hatred for me so strong that it still lingers?_

O-Ine-san. The woman who had called him 'demon' and 'kitsune' for as long as he could remember. Who told everyone of the misfortune he would bring. Most everyone ignored her: his family was well-liked, his father respected. But for each sickness, each death-- any problem that arose-- she would hold him accountable. Eventually, some began to wonder. After all, she was the healer: wouldn't she know? There were whispers, but life went on as normal until the rains came, and the floods, and the cholera…and his parents were no longer there to protect him…

He felt again the fear that had curled in his stomach whenever he saw her: a sick feeling that he had hated. He had hated **her. **Remembering, a fresh antagonism stirred. It seemed as though she had indelibly marked him for the rest of his life: the appellation of 'demon' kept coming back. He did not want to have to even **see **her again; he hoped she was dead.

Kenshin gave himself a mental shake. _This is accomplishing nothing. I am a grown man now, and samurai. She cannot truly harm me any longer, alive or dead._ He stood and went back in the house for the bucket. If he was going to sleep in the house tonight, he'd prefer the floors to be clean.

'''''''''''''''

He'd cleaned the floor, and he had eaten a bowl of rice. Now he was back out, crouched by the step, making more marks. His head caught the faint light from within, barely visible as a dull red.

As his friend approached the banya, Keita glanced away from the house he had been watching and remarked, "You're late."

Hirō made a token gesture of apology. "Gomen. I was working in the garden, and then Yui needed my help moving the loom. Is there a problem?"

"Iie. Just something interesting: a new person in the village." Keita pointed down to the house near the stream. "Makio saw him come in. Said he was dressed like a samurai and had hair redder than a fox." Hirō turned to stare at Keita, who grinned with satisfaction at the reaction to his news.

"Red hair?"

"Hai! And the really interesting thing is that Makio said Noriya-san knew him. Called him 'Shinta-kun,' and then apologized for being so rude."

Hirō sat down slowly next to him on the steps. "Shinta-kun?" he repeated, wonder in his voice.

Keita paused in the middle of a scratch, "You know the name?"

"Aa. Before you came here, a family lived in that house. The grandfather, Sakutarou-san, taught us our letters. And when he died, his son Shinsaku took over. Shinta-kun was one of Shinsaku-san's sons. And he had red hair. But after his family died, he was sold to help the village pay its taxes. --- He's come back?" He rubbed his hand over his hair in perplexity and stared down at the man dimly seen.

"Well, he's not Shinta-kun anymore. And he's no slave. Makio said he told Noriya to call him Himura Kenshin." They watched together as their object of interest finished his task and went back inside. "I'd like to know what he was doing. Maybe he was writing wards to keep away the obake!" He laughed, but Hirō did not seem to have heard him. He was still staring at the house and Keita just caught his murmur: "A samurai…"

''''''''''''''

Kenshin woke to the dead silence that often marked the hour of the Tiger. All was dark and still. He rose and poked the fire awake to start his morning rice. The water felt good as he rinsed his hands and face before changing his clothes. He had nothing appropriate for the work he would do today; anything he wore would be hot and awkward. Just walking, he had been uncomfortably hot these last few days in his padded kimono and he had left off the underkimono. He would have to get something lighter quickly, but today he would have to hope that leaving off the hakama and wearing his hakama-shita would be enough. Even the kasa would not work very well: he needed a flatter one that would allow whatever breeze there was to cool his head.

As he ate his rice, he stood at the top step and looked down at the list, faint in the firelight from the doorway, that he had scratched out with a piece of charcoal. Most of the things he could probably buy from people here in the village…

Finished, he rinsed his bowl and hashi in the hot water left from his tea and set them down on the floor. From his bundle, he withdrew the incense, mochi, and sake he had purchased in the last large town, considering the remaining contents for a moment. _I will have to get some sort of chest to store my food…_The incense was tucked into his obi, the sake bottle and package of mochi picked up once the sakabatou was settled at his waist. Sliding his feet into the straw sandals he had set outside the door, he stepped out into a dying night lit only by the stars. Kenshin stood and listened to the faint whisper of leaves stirring in a weak pre-dawn breeze. He could feel the house behind him, alien in its silence.

He looked across and up the hillside, catching the dim glow of a window at the banya. They would notice him, of course, but there should be no other curious eyes. He stepped down and followed a pale path that paralleled the stream and the trees, bypassing the houses and street, until he came to where the ground sloped up to the first causeway between the fields. The packed earth was gray in this light, bordered by irregular dark masses that he assumed were bean plants. The fields stretched out around him, full of the grass and flowers he had seen yesterday, but by tonight several would have had the ground broken and the weeds removed and the air would smell of fresh earth.

It was good; it was the way things should be. But superimposed on the peaceful order he saw was another view—of eroded dikes and uprooted trees, crops buried under fields of mud and rock that had been left as the flood slowly subsided and the rank smell of rotting vegetation and sickness filled the air. As he walked the path, he had the sensation of being suspended between both present and past, not really part of either. The sight of the graveyard ahead brought him firmly back to the present and his purpose.

Lights were beginning to come on in the houses across the fields to his right, but he knew that there would be time. He was strained and nervous as he came down off the causeway and made his way to the plot of memorials. The light had brightened enough that he could make out the inscriptions on many of the markers. The graveyard was larger than when he'd left: ten years had taken many of the older people who had survived the cholera. There were a lot of names he did not recognize: children born after he'd left, adults he'd never known. His steps slowed as he approached his family's markers, his throat tightening. Finally, he stood before his father's name. Sinking to his knees, he drew the sakabatou and laid it carefully before him with shaking hands. He bowed to the ground, his chest aching with the words that needed to be said.

"Otōsan. I ask your pardon. I have restored our family as samurai, but I have been an assassin by my own choice. I have not been a dutiful son in observing the anniversary of your deaths. I am full of remorse and will seek to do better to bring our family honor. I have sworn not to kill again, and this sakabatou is witness of that vow. I will remember those virtues in which you instructed me. Though I may not always be able to make offerings, I will always remember my family."

_I have not always made the effort to remember. It hurt too much. I missed you too much. And once I was hitokiri, I did not want to remember your words or Shishou's: they made me wonder how I had fallen so far. Made me question the rightness of what I was doing—what I had given my word to do. It was only in the quiet time with Tomoe that I began to remember the good things…_

As Kenshin knelt there, a supplicant before his father's grave, he felt as though he were once again a young child seeking advice. But had he listened to what he had been taught? He had stubbornly focused on those parts that he thought he understood and ignored the rest. He had been so young! Because of his lack of maturity—his lack of patience---he had a burden of guilt that might take his whole life to atone for. He still believed in the cause, but he was no longer sure he agreed with the methods used. Through the eyes of experience, he was beginning to understand the rest of his lessons….If he had only given himself time, before! If he had let himself remember…

It was odd to rise up and find himself still kneeling in the graveyard. It had seemed as though he were somewhere else, very near his father…He wiped his eyes, and opened the package of mochi, setting out some for each of his family. He lit the incense and rose to pour the sake out in libation. Otōsan, Okaasan, Aiko, Shinshū, and Shinpei: his family. _I miss you. _

The sun was rising. People would be gathering for the day's work. At the banya, he could see the men getting ready to come down. He needed to leave. Pulling the tasuki from his sleeve, he tied the sleeves out of his way and slid his sword down his back. He would see if the tie held it firmly enough. Picking up the sake bottle (he would rinse it at the well and fill it with water), he made his way along the fields and back to the street.

'''''''''''''

Noriya was standing in the midst of a fair group as Kenshin approached. Men, boys, and women turned to see what had caught the shoya's eye. Kenshin felt the weight of their attention, their curiosity. He did not like being stared at, but had learned long ago—the day he had joined the Kiheitai---that there were times when you had to endure it so that an assessment could be made. _Will they accept me? There are so few I recognize! There's Tatsunori-san…he must be in his sixties! Kayato, his son. And Manabu-san. Would Otōsan look that old if he were still alive? And…is that Naota?_

Naota had taken a hesitant step towards Kenshin, his eyes disbelieving, when Noriya cleared his throat and spoke to the group as he gestured towards Kenshin.

"This man lived in our village as a child, and asks to stay with us again for a time. I have given him permission. Those of you who remember knew him as Shinta, but he now calls himself Himura Kenshin." Kenshin glanced sharply at Noriya, not liking the phrasing. _Calls himself? Ah. He doubts that I am samurai…_ There was nothing he could truly object to in the words, though, so he stayed silent, merely bowing briefly in the direction of the amazed faces. As he straightened, he caught Noriya's gaze and sent a warning stare. The other man's eyes slid away as he continued with his instructions for the day.

"Manabu. Himura-san will be in your group. Make sure he knows the schedule of duties." Turning to the rest, he continued, "We'll start on the fields nearest the creek. Half to the south field, half to the north."

The gathering began to break up, people shouldering their hoes and moving off towards the fields, picking up stragglers as they went. Others paused to speak to Noriya. The shoya handed an extra hoe to Manabu and gestured with his chin toward Kenshin as he listened to their questions. The tall man took it and nodded, walking towards the stranger he had known as a boy.

Before he could reach him, Naota had hastened over and slapped his old friend on the back. An odd expression crossed Naota's face as his hand connected with something long and hard between his best friend's shoulders. "Oro?" Naota had surprised Kenshin with his instant informality but received a surprise in return; he craned around to see what it was. "You're wearing a sword!" he stated in shocked tones.

"Aa." Kenshin did not know what else to say. _He acts as though nothing has changed--- as though I've only been gone a few days. How can he do that? How can he…_

"Himura-san, welcome."

The deep voice touched a memory inside him: his father and Manabu-san sitting by the door late at night, their low voices rumbling as he slipped into sleep. He turned and looked up at the lined, pockmarked face of his father's best friend.

"Manabu-san, this Kenshin is glad to see you." A rare smile lighted his face at the genuine pleasure he could feel radiating from the man.

The older man waved his hand. "Maa, maa. A samurai need not be so polite to a peasant. Or a friend to a friend. How are you?" He handed the hoe to Kenshin and they began to walk down the street towards the north field: Naota and Manabu, with Kenshin between.

"He has a sword!" Naota gestured towards Kenshin's back.

Manabu stopped himself from rolling his eyes. "And he has a family name. That's what happens when you are samurai." He looked down at the top of Kenshin's red head. "I am correct in my assumption, aren't I?"

"Hai. I was kenshi for Chōshū in Kyōto." _What more do I tell them? I cannot-_

"Samurai! But then why would you come back here?" Naota questioned.

"Learn discretion, Naota," the tall man counseled. The younger man cast him an irritated glance, but dropped the subject, instead asking, "Why would you wear a sword while hoeing?

Kenshin shrugged. "I am accustomed to carrying it at all times. It was necessary in Kyōto. If it becomes a problem, I will deal with it."

"I bet you get rid of it within the hour," Naota laughed. "You obviously don't remember what hoeing is like." Manabu looked at him sternly, but Naota was unconcerned. "Why should he, if he is samurai? They don't grow rice." He grinned at Kenshin. "Do they?"

Kenshin was silent a moment, trying to find his way through this conversation. Naota felt friendly enough and had seemed welcoming, but his words…

"Not usually. But the lower ranks often try to grow as much other food as they can." (A flash of memory—Tomoe crying in the rain, fearing the loss of their crop.) He lowered his head and watched his feet, letting his hair hide his eyes while he waited for the tightness in his throat to leave.

"…neighbor again?"

Kenshin was startled to discover that his friends had evidently continued talking without him even noticing until the interrogative note had caught his ear. He looked up to see that they were nearing the end of the street and guessed at the question. "Hai. I am staying in my family's house." He had evidently given an appropriate answer, for Manabu looked satisfied.

Manabu stopped in the street before they reached Kenshin's house. "In our group, you will know me and Junsuke-san. He is still right across from you and is probably already out in the field." He stretched out his arm and began pointing at the houses around them. "Ushio-san lives right next to you; he is my age. Shun-san and his son, Ichita, live on Ushio-san's other side. Kiyū-san lives next to me; he is a little older than you." Having finished, he began walking again, cutting between the houses to reach the fields behind. "In two more nights, it will be our turn in the banya: one man during the day, two at night. I'll arrange it so that you are with me for your first watch."

"It's unbelievably dull: the biggest problem is staying awake. Of course, you **are** able to see what everyone is doing, and sometimes that can be interesting." Naota leered comically and nudged Kenshin with his elbow.

They had reached the designated field, close up behind Shun-san's house. The assembled group were sorting themselves out, stringing out in multiple spaced lines. One old couple was off in a small section by themselves. As Kenshin drew nearer, following Manabu, he recognized them as Junsuke-san and his wife, greyer and more bent than he remembered.

"Manabu-san? Why are Junsuke-san and his wife left alone? Have they done something wrong?" Kenshin could not imagine the stern old man having done anything that would cause him to be ostracized.

The tall man found his position in the line and paused before starting to hoe, looking over towards the couple. "No. Nothing is wrong. It is just that Junsuke-san is blind now. We just give him room so that he can still work and not worry about hurting anyone. His wife guides him and tells him if he's missed a spot. They work very well together." He plunged the hoe into the ground and the wildflowers fell. He glanced across Kenshin at Naota, who was already hacking away. "What is Nami doing today? She is not hoeing, is she?"

Naota gave his head a quick shake without looking up. "She's far too big to bend properly. She told Okaasan that she'd weave while Okaasan came out to the fields." Tilting his head to catch Kenshin's eye, he explained, "Nami and I are married."

Kenshin nodded his understanding, but made no comment as he worked away at his own section. Time slipped backwards a little at the news: Nami had been one of Aiko's friends. _I remember her as a stocky seven-year old with missing teeth and eyes that crinkled when she laughed. How can she be married?-- Aiko would be old enough to marry! _But Aiko would never grow up, never marry…

So many changes in the village! But his family would never change: petite Okaasan with her glossy hair and her tired-but-smiling eyes; Otōsan, firm but patient; seven-year old Aiko, laughing at him, hugging him as hard as she could; three-year old Shinshū calling his name, nervous in the dark of their tiny loft; little Shinpei, just learning to stand. In his mind they would forever be the same. He rubbed his arm across his face, leaving a tell-tale streak of mud.

"What, sweating already? We've barely begun!" Naota jested. Kenshin shrugged slightly to show he'd heard, but did not raise his head.

'''''''''''''''''

By late morning, his hakama-shita was soaked and hung irritatingly heavy on his arms and shoulders. He straightened, feeling the pull of the muscles low in his back. Shouldering his hoe, he made his way towards the edge of the field past the other workers. Naota and Manabu looked up from their efforts as he left them. With a nod to the older man's raised eyebrows, Naota jogged after Kenshin to see what was wrong.

He found his friend undoing the tasuki and laying it and his sword on the verge. Watching Kenshin peel the moist cloth from his shoulders and tuck the fabric into his obi, he reflected that he had forgotten just how pale his friend's skin was. As Kenshin looked up, Naota laughed and pulled his suge gasa over his head from where it had hung on his back. "Here, wear this. Your face is already so pink that if you don't, you'll look like akami by the time we're done. The sun's stronger here than in the east." Kenshin grimaced, but reached out for the hat and put it on, murmuring his thanks. Naota watched the play of muscles in the smaller man's arms and noticed the width of shoulder that had been hidden under the loose clothing. Shinta's….Himura's clothes were **still** too big on him! Casually, he removed his own top and threw it on the ground, enjoying the startlement in his friend's eyes as his tattoos were revealed. He grinned and winked as he flexed. "Women love them.!" Turning back to the field, he picked up his hoe and called over his shoulder, "Come on! No more slacking till lunch!"

Kenshin shook his head in disbelief: Naota hadn't changed a bit.

'''''''''''

The bugs didn't bother him particularly, though it was a nuisance when they tried to fly into his eyes. And the sweat running in rivulets down his side and back tickled, but at least cooled him off a little. He did not look forward to putting the hakama-shita back on, though he knew he'd have to eventually or his back would fulfill Naota's prophecy. No, this crawling feeling that made his skin want to twitch was from someone's focused attention. It did not feel threatening…Kenshin paused and leaned on his hoe--wincing slightly at the stiffness that was already setting in—letting his eyes skim quickly over the people around him: the women and men bent to their work, the young boys raking the earth smooth and clear of weeds behind them. A movement at the edge of his vision shifted his attention and he caught the sudden dip of a head, followed by an odd squeak: one of a group of young women that was also working in the field not too far behind him. He contemplated the tops of their heads for a moment, wondering if the one in the middle was Kin, and was rewarded for his patience when another young woman cautiously raised her head, her eyes widening as they unexpectedly met his. Her head was immediately lowered and there was nothing more to be seen but four young women busily hoeing. He had his answer, however: for whatever reason, they had been staring at him. He bent back to his own work, wishing that if Naota was going to hum, he could at least carry a tune.

''''''''''

"Eek! He saw me!" Ayu gasped. "He was** staring right at me** when I looked up!"

"So? Is he as good-looking as Kin said?" Hana asked. "When we got here, he was behind a bunch of people and I couldn't see his face."

"Oh, yes! She's right. He's definitely bishounen. The scar makes him look older and kind of dangerous; I like it." She shoved a stray lock of hair back into her kerchief, and turned to look at her younger friend.

Kin frowned. "He **is** older. I don't remember too clearly, but Baba-san says he was ten when he was sold, and that was ten years ago."

"Sō ka? All right. Biseinen, then." With a shrug, she exchanged glances with Kanna, who was nearer her age. "Do you remember him? You would have been six."

"Aa. I remember him some. He was little: his sister Aiko was taller than he was, and she was seven. He was nice, though, to us younger kids."

"Who cares if he's short? Look at those muscles! And his hair!"

Four hoes slowed and then paused as the four girls—even Kin, reluctantly—admired the beauty that was Himura-san.

''''''''''

By the time to break for the midday meal, Kenshin was ready to pause in the shade of the trees near the creek. His arms and legs were fine—the muscles used were pretty much the same as when he used his sword, but his lower back was a huge, dull ache from bending over the hoe so long. And the skin on his shoulders and back had begun to burn. But as he picked up the sakabatou and moved to the trees with his two friends, he was careful to move as naturally as possible and keep his face impassive: samurai showed no pain. _Yes, tell yourself that. You know it's really because you don't want Naota to notice._ He winced inwardly at the childishness he had acknowledged: it was as though he still felt a need to keep up with the larger and rather reckless boy…

As they settled, Naota stretched out on the ground with a sigh of pleasure, while Manabu sat sedately, looking towards the other end of the village.

"Are they almost here?" Naota inquired without opening his eyes.

"Hai." He continued to watch the several women who were bringing out the rice.

Kenshin was still standing, looking around. The men and women had tended to work in separate groups—even Manabu's wife, Honomi, had chosen to work alongside her women friends rather than her husband—and now, as they prepared to eat, that separation remained. He thought he remembered it being the same when he was young, but was not sure. He and Naota had seldom remained in any one group, but had roamed from group to group during the break with Naota charming as many adults as he could into giving them extras. He glanced down at his friend, relaxed in the shade and content, and marveled at the difference in their lives. _Everyone has always liked him. He's always been sure of himself. Now he's married and seems happy with his life_. _And what am I? **What** am I?_

He shook the thoughts from his head, and began to untuck his soggy clothing from his obi, where it chafed. The young women who had stared so rudely at him were at some distance, so he decided to strip down to his fundoshi and let the hakama-shita dry out before he had to put it on again. Unwrapping the obi, he threw both over a bush in the sun, dropped the gasa on the grass, and stretched out next to Naota.

"Food's here," Manabu warned a few moments later. Kenshin sat up, to find a pregnant Nami coming towards them with a tray. Naota opened one eye and smiled lazily at his wife as she knelt and began to scoop rice into the bowls, pouring a little water over each to make it easier to eat quickly. She paused, but he did no more than reach out a hand for his bowl and set it down next to him. She and her father exchanged a few words and she moved on.

"Manabu-san? I have seen you, Noriya-san and his family, Junsuke-san and his wife, and Tatsunori-san and his son. And Naota. Are there others still here that I would know?"

The older man paused in his eating, "Hai. Hirō-san is here, and his family. Seiji-san and his family. Tomamichi-san and his. O-Ine-san," he said, watching from under his brows for a reaction. "When so many of the houses were empty, some families came from the other village. Some of our older second sons took houses. But we have fewer men working this year: when the samurai were called up for the battle in Edo, most of the younger sons left to serve as retainers. Fewer people, but a bigger levy; we'll all be working hard."

Naota finally sat up and began wolfing his rice. "In a few years we'll have plenty of workers. Some of us have labored through the winter to produce more than just straw mats and sandals," he said around a mouthful, nodding towards the several obviously pregnant women that had been put in charge of the meal and weaving and spinning instead of working the fields. Kenshin and Manabu exchanged a look, and finished their rice, leaving their bowls on the ground as they rose.

As he watched Kenshin shrug back into his nearly-dry clothes, Manabu commented, "You should ask Hirō-san's wife to sew for you. She's the best in the village. You can't keep wearing that."

"Hai. I'll do that." Obi tied, he picked up the sakabatou and gasa and returned to the field and the sun.

'''''''''''

It was a relief to lie flat on his back-- nothing on but his fundoshi—with the wood floor cool against his tender skin. He hadn't ached this badly since his early days with Shishou. But he had kept up, and they had finished two fields—though they were the smallest two. He lay there, drowsing in the dimness, sliding over the border of consciousness into memory, seeming to hear rustling around him and vague whispers. He jerked awake at an imagined touch on his shoulder, and sat up carefully. If he stayed here, he would stiffen and tomorrow would be even worse. Slowly he rose, picking up the sakabatou from where it lay next to him without bothering to put any more clothes on. It was dusk, and everyone would be at dinner. He left his house and made for the creek, leaving behind the sound of Manabu's family that wafted from their open door.

As he forded the creek, he had to slap away the gnats (_One more thing to buy: mosquito netting. They'll be out soon.)_, but they were left behind as he headed up the mountainside. He hoped the clearing was still there: there were occasional faint traces of the track he used to follow, though it was crossed and blurred by other paths worn into the grass by animals coming to water. It wasn't far: his father would never have let a young boy go too far into the trees on his own.

Soon he found it, smaller than he remembered, but big enough. He settled into beginning stance, the evening soft against him, and began his kata slowly, moving gently through the falling quiet.

'''''''''''

"Himura-san! Himura-san!" Norikazu called. He waited at the bottom of the steps, fidgeting as no answer came. There was no light in the house, but would Himura-san sleep with his door open this close to the trees? Himura-san might be brave enough to stay in this house, but Norikazu was nervous, standing in the deepening shadows. He jumped at a loud rustle in the bushes, and went up the steps hurriedly. "Himura-san!" The young boy could not forget the tales he had been told…He braced himself to look inside the dark house: what if the samurai was dead inside?

Everything was quiet, and though he stared as hard through the darkness as he could, he could see no human shape inside. He settled down on the engawa and wondered what to do. Obaasan had said it was very important that he give Himura-san the scroll. Maybe he'd just gone to the privy. Norikazu sat and swung his legs. It wasn't too bad: the light from Junsuke-san's door and slatted windows spread out towards the street and offered reassurance. He noticed writing on the top step and squinted to read it, sounding out the words. "Ch-e-st. Cl-o-th-ing. S-ee-d-s. Oi-l." What odd things for Himura-san to write!

His ears perked up as he heard the scrunch of gravel. Himura–san was back! But looking up, he could see that the figure was too large. When it entered the yard, Norikazu could tell that it was Naota. "Oi! Norikazu-kun! Where is Himura-san?"

"I don't know. Obaasan asked me to bring him something, but he's not here. I thought maybe he'd gone to the privy, but I've been sitting here for a while."

Naota laughed, "Well, you can't rush things…I'm sure wherever he is, he'll be back soon. Maybe he went to talk to Hirō's wife about new clothes; Manabu-san suggested it." Remembering the words on the step, Norikazu nodded. "When Himura-san gets back, tell him that we've heated a bath. If he wants a turn, he'll have to get in line." He gave the boy an encouraging pat on the shoulder and strolled back the way he had come.

He had not waited much longer, when Manabu came out of his house and walked across the street. "Oh, it's you, Norikazu-kun. I thought it was Himura-san sitting out here."

"No, I'm waiting for him. I don't know where he is."

The tall man pulled something from under his arm. "When he gets back, give him this and tell him I said to wear it tomorrow." Once he held it up, Norikazu could see that it was a short, thin kosode. "It'll be cooler than what he wore today." He bundled the garment into Norikazu's lap and turned to leave, pausing long enough to say, "You worked hard raking today. You did a good job."

Norikazu felt a little glow of pleasure at the older man's words, but soon found himself fretting again. It was full dark now, and he had no chōchin. The trees were misshapen forms in the night that could easily hide a demon… The bushes rustled and he heard a step from the direction of the blackest shadows. He gathered himself together to run, unable to suppress a squeaked "Oro!" as a form emerged from the trees. He was nearly to the street when a voice called, "Matte. There is nothing to be afraid of."

He breathed a sigh of relief when he recognized Himura-san's voice. But as the samurai entered the light shining into the street, Norikazu could not help staring: the man's hair was loose and dripping water and his pale eyes shone eerily, and though he was clad only in damp fundoshi, he carried his sword. Swallowing hard, he felt his nervousness return until the small man smiled reassuringly at him.

"Norikazu-kun. Did you need me for something?" He wrung his hair out and flipped it back over his shoulder in a perfectly ordinary manner as the boy bowed.

"Obaasan asked me to bring you something. She said it was important.—Oh, and Naota-san said that they have heated a tub if you want to come down, and Manabu-san said that you were to wear this tomorrow." He thrust the kosode at Kenshin.

Kenshin raised his eyebrows in surprise, but did not take the clothing. "Please hold that for me: I am rather wet still." Turning into his yard and going up his steps with Norikazu trailing, he remarked, "I seem to have missed several visitors tonight. Thank you for waiting and giving me their messages." He raked some coals alive and added scraps of wood for a small fire before he pulled a towel from a tidy stack of clothing and began to dry off as he sat, gesturing for the boy to sit as well.

But Norikazu knelt instead, setting the garment on the floor and pulling something from his sleeve, and Kenshin immediately stilled and focused. "Himura-san, Obaasan instructed me to give you this scroll and to tell you that it has lain for many years in the chest that holds her honored husband's possessions. But now she and my father return it to you with their regret for the choices that were forced upon them by circumstances." Finishing the words that he had obviously memorized, he touched the scroll in his hands to his forehead and then held it out to the man who seemed to have frozen in place at the sight.

Kenshin's breath had caught in his chest, but he was completely unaware as he shifted to his knees and slowly—disbelievingly—stretched out his hand to take the scroll. As he unrolled it carefully—just a bit—and saw the writing, he found his breath again in a gasp and clutched the scroll to his chest, before remembering his damp condition and setting it carefully aside as though it were indeed something very precious.

Himura-san sat with his head down, breathing deeply for several moments before he looked up at Norikazu, his face glowing with some inward emotion and his eyes shining…with tears? "Norikazu-kun, please tell Yasu-baasan that this Kenshin will ever be grateful to her husband for preserving the scroll, and to her and Noriya-san for restoring it to me. May they all be ever blessed by the gods." And he bowed low.

Norikazu knew that it was time to leave. He bowed in return and withdrew, eaten with curiosity. He would tell Obaasan what Himura-san said and how he had looked, and maybe she would tell him what was in the scroll.

Inside, Kenshin went about his business, drying off from his bath in the creek, and clothing himself in his underkimono, always conscious of the scroll waiting for him. Finally, finally…he knelt and picked up the scroll, savoring its familiar feel in his hands. He had learned to read Chinese characters from this scroll, because they had no books. He had learned the names of his ancestors and his family's history from this scroll as his father's fingers traced the lines. From it, he had learned what it meant to be samurai as his father told him tales of Himura Koudai and **his** fathers. Finally…finally, he set the scroll on the floor and unrolled it, looking down at his own name and his brothers', his father's, and his, on back: the Himura genealogy had not been lost. He had a tangible link to his family.


	7. Chapter 7 Shades and Shadows

**Disclaimer: Nope, not me, never: Kenshin belongs to Watsuki and huge corporations. I, however, own everybody else in the village. So there.**

**A/N: This chapter is taking me so long to write, and is going to be so long, that I am going to break it into parts for posting. The ending may seem a little abrupt, but that's because it's NOT the end. Don't look for part 2 much before January sometime (if then, considering the holidays). And thanks so much to you faithful readers who encourage me by your reviews.**

Ffnet screwed up the website for the map that I listed on Ch. 6. Go to deviantart's website, search for 'olderwoman,' and look under 'scraps' (some of the children's names are missing because I couldn't update it with a malfunctioning scanner). The site also shows properly on my profile page, though I don't think it will actually link.

**Basic genealogy for those who were curious** (Japanese genealogy only lists males):

Himura Kōdai--------- Kōtarō---------- Sakutarō---------- Shinsaku------------ Shinta

(lost samurai status) ----d. Bunkwa 2 ------d.Kaei 3 -----------b.Bunsei 8---------b.Kaei 2

d.Bunsei 3 -------------(1779-1807)------ (1796-1851)-------(1826-1858)--------(1849--)

(1759-1820) -----------br: Kōya-------------------------------br:Sakuya----------br: Shinshu (1856-1858)

----------------------------Kōshirō----------------------------(1830-1837)-----------Shinpei (1857)

-----------------------Both adopted out

-----------------------before family lost rank

Sorry for all the lines. It's the only way I could get ffnet to space the info properly.

**Vocab** **(you knew it was coming…)**

andon—a wood and rice paper covered light that sits on the floor

Tenno—"Heavenly Sovereign", the Emperor

Mikado--Emperor

hour of the Ox—approx. between 1-3 a.m. ('witching hour')

ha—a variation on 'yes'

hyōshigi—wooden blocks or clappers

kamidana—Shinto house shrine

jinbei- loose top and shorts worn by peasants

iya, oya, nanda— Okay, I may have to change these, but I have heard them used as random exclamations even though they have other meanings

eta—the lowest class of 'non-persons' that dealt with dead things

hana-mi---cherry blossom viewing

hanakaida—a filled sweet with a light cherry flavor and scent

jiisan—old man

selvages—the edges of a length of fabric

youkai--demon

bō—staff

**Cultural notes: **wooden clappers and nightly rounds—at nightfall in towns and villages one of the watchmen would go around the streets, knocking two blocks of wood together to remind people to make sure their fires were out or safely banked before they slept.

All kimono were cut to one size. You made it fit by how far you crossed it over and how much you pulled up at your waist before you wrapped your obi.

Every member of a five-man-group (that could actually be made of more than five men) was responsible for the behavior of anyone in that group. If one did something wrong, they were all held accountable.

**Character reminders:**

Kin—daughter of Noriya(the headman), Kenshin lived with her family after his family died; she followed him around—she was four, he was ten (Remember! We're talking Japanese ageing here)

Shozo—Kin's older brother who died before Shinta's family did

Hana, Kanna, Ayu—teenage village girls

Honomi—wife of Manabu, mother of Rishou, Nami, and Naeko

Yui—wife of Hirō, mother of Kanna and Iori

Sakutarou, Shinsaku—up there in the genealogy: Kenshin's grandfather and father, respectively

Eho, Nami, Mugen, etc.—village people, you'll get used to them (and there's always the deviantart site on my profile if you really need to know who goes with whom)

**About the sickness thing**: There really are people like that. My great-great grandfather was one. He helped prepare the dead for burial during epidemics.

-----------

**Chōshū—Shades and Shadows, pt 1**

**Third Month, 14th day **

He studied his hands in the unsteady light of the andon, reading memories in the aches and calluses and flesh he saw there. His hands were rough from years of wielding a blade—years of hardening himself to killing. The stiffness and swollen feeling in his fingers after these days of constant hoeing reminded him of how his hands had felt that evening that he sat staring at the graves he had dug. The oozing blisters where hoe rubbed and sword did not, brought so clearly to mind his first lessons with Shishou, back when a katana was foreign to his hand. There were even memories beyond those: of his first days in these same fields, raking and hoeing; of his mother rinsing his hands in the stream and binding them with soft cloth; of himself doing the same for Aiko when she had to leave her games and begin to work the fields as well. _How odd that a person's whole history can be read in his hand…only Tomoe is not apparent, effacing herself as she so often did. But she **is** there, deeper than hand or face…_

Manabu watched the younger man as he sat in his borrowed kosode, rubbing a thumb across his palm. Actually, his hands didn't look too bad, but Himura-san was looking them over so carefully that you'd think that the answer to every question lay there. He contemplated the red head, remembering the cheerful boy that had existed before the cholera. Himura-san was still pleasant, still thoughtful, but sober now: frugal with his smiles and his conversation, usually just sitting and listening to what was going on around him. Manabu gave a mental shrug: everyone had to grow up sometime-- it just took some (thinking of Naota) a little longer than others. And it probably felt awkward, being back after so long.

Kenshin's head suddenly lifted, and he stared out into the dark as his hand sought the sword lying at his side. Manabu, who had heard nothing, moved over next to him and peered out. The night was filled with shadows cast by the nearly full moon, but one of the shadows moved on the path to the banya. Soon the crunch of gravel beneath feet was obvious—no stealth there, though the steps were slow. Both men relaxed, then Manabu stiffened and rose to his feet as he recognized his son; he stood silent and stern as the young man came up the steps. Kenshin rose too, aware of the sudden tension. He had wondered where Rishou was, but had not asked, reluctant to perhaps find that Manabu's son was one of those who had died in the last ten years. Even if he had met him on the street of another town, Kenshin would have recognized him: at twenty, he resembled his father remarkably.

Rishou bowed to his father and former friend in greeting, "Otōsan. Shinta-kun, I had heard you were back. It is good to see you."

Before Kenshin could reply, Manabu reprimanded his son. "Address him as Himura-san."

"Maa, maa…" Kenshin began to demur, seeking to ease the mood, but Manabu sent him a warning glance and returned to coldly regarding his son. "Noriya-san felt it necessary to bring to my attention the fact that though the errand he sent you on should have taken **at most** a day, we have been breaking the fields for three days without your help. You have left us a man short for two days! Even the eight year-olds were working, but my son was absent."

In the taut pause that resulted, Kenshin excused himself and slipped out. He moved quickly to avoid hearing any more of the chastisement and found a place under a peach tree to wait and continue his watch until matters were resolved. He was embarrassed for both father and son--and surprised, because Rishou had always been the example of reliability held up to the other boys.

In the brightness of the moon, the outline of the houses was stark and he could make out which fields had been turned and which were still waiting for the hoe. Ushio-san was sitting on his steps, playing with little Fujiko while his pregnant wife stood in the doorway and watched. He could see several children at the house across from Noriya-san's—Motoshi-san's?--playing in the patch of light from the open door, enjoying their few free moments before bed. He could hear their squeals, faint from the distance, and a deeper laugh that he imagined sounded like Naota. It was all so ordinary, so peaceful…_**This** is what I fought for! But it can be lost so quickly… How does one keep it safe? _

His thoughts were disrupted by a flicker of movement in the doorway of **that** house. He frowned in irritation at himself: he had been edgy these last three days, expecting at any time to catch a glimpse of the crooked figure, or hear a shrill voice denouncing him. He had found himself choosing routes and fields that would keep him farthest from her house. He was already falling back into his childhood defenses and he had not even seen her yet!

There was another flash of clothing past the door and then the light went out. The glow of a chōchin appeared at the door, the hand holding it that of a young woman. He could not tell who it was until she turned into the yard of Noriya-san's house; he realized it must be Kin.

Voices pulled his attention back to the banya; he was relieved that the tones were ordinary now. Manabu raised his hands as the two men stepped onto the path to show Kenshin that he had the hyōshigi and was about to make the nightly round.

'''''''''''''

"I ask your forgiveness for placing you in an awkward position, Himura-san." Manabu's face was vaguely sad as he held his hand before him in an apologetic fashion and bowed. "It was rude of me to expose you to the problem between me and Rishou, but in my anger, I wished him to suffer the humiliation I felt when Noriya-san spoke to me. I am ashamed of my lack of control."

_This is not right…it is almost as though my own father were humbling himself before me…_In his unease, Kenshin hastened to assure the older man, "Please, do not concern yourself. It is already forgotten."

Manabu leaned back against the wall of the banya and gazed out over the village where the last few lights were slowly winking out. He rubbed a hand over his head and sighed with frustration. "He has always been so good, so obedient --you remember? He still is, in most things. But he has decided that he is in love with a merchant's daughter in Mitō, and in anything that involves her, it is as though he has lost his reason! He knew that we would be starting on the fields, and knew that Noriya-san would expect him back as soon as he had arranged for delivery of the message, but he **still** stayed to loiter around the store to see her! What am I going to do with him?"

Kenshin remained silent. What advice did he have to give, with the strange life he had led so far?

But Manabu did not seem to require an answer. After a moment's reflection, he sat up straight again and turned to Kenshin, a confounded look on his face.

"Rishou did bring some news that he had heard. It is so unbelievable, I cannot think it is true, but he swears that it is." He shook his head in consternation, but continued. "He said that the Tenno has allowed himself to be seen by the Western barbarians! How could that be? Even his own subjects cannot see him…only the royal family and the priests. How could these new advisors allow the Son of Heaven to be exposed in such a way? It is sacrilege! Defilement of the Mikado! How have they convinced our young ruler to do this thing? Are they forcing him to do their will?"

It truly was such an incredible thing to hear that Kenshin's mind was blank with amazement. _Katsura-sensei, what is happening? Why does the Mikado need to display himself before the foreigners? How does this strengthen his position? How does it bring peace to our country? The military levy taking men away from fields; the army's need for rice pushing up prices and taking food from the commoners; now this…I need to write to Katsura-sensei._

Manabu continued to exclaim and speculate for some time. Kenshin remained silent. He was assured of Katsura's devotion to the Emperor, but could neither endorse an action that he did not understand, nor decry a government that he had made such sacrifices to put in place. He could only hope and trust.

Finally, the older man settled and suggested, "You should sleep some. I start getting tired around the hour of the Ox. I'll wake you up then."

"Ha." Kenshin rose from the step and stretched. As he did, his eyes fell upon **that** house again. "Manabu-san?"

"Hai?"

He strove to sound disinterested, casual. "You told me that O-Ine-san is still in the village, but in three days I have not seen her at all."

"She has been ill. The young women and older girls are taking turns helping her. Even when she is healthy, she cannot leave her house anymore unless there is someone to help her."

Kenshin felt a swift surge of satisfaction: she could not come upon him unawares--and then was immediately ashamed; only two days ago, he had promised his father to remember the virtues in which he had been instructed. His reaction in no way embodied benevolence, honor, or courage. He bowed his head in remorse and retreated into the banya with a quiet "oyasuminasai" to his partner.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

**15th day**

He woke Manabu as the first lights came on in the houses and asked permission to leave immediately so that he could take his kimono to O-Yui-san. As he expected, Manabu agreed readily, and he was out the door and down the hillside with a minimum of morning conversation. He was not in the best of moods: though he had lectured himself for most of his watch--with Manabu's slow, peaceful breathing an irritating counterpoint to his own inner turmoil—the resentment, the feeling of vindication in her misfortune, …the **hatred** was still there, raging against his father's counsel. He had only just returned to his father; if he could not overcome the influence O-Ine-san still had in his own mind, he would be driven away again.

Within his house, he paused. He had no kamidana, but had folded his spare blanket to create a raised surface upon which he had placed his family's scroll. A bowl of last night's rice sat on the floor before it, all that he had to offer. Kneeling now, he clapped and bowed his head, praying that his father would help him find the balance he needed. But there was little time this morning, and rising, he gathered up the kimono and a piece of dried fish to chew as he went, grabbing the hoe as he hurried down the steps. The fish would make him thirsty, but he would get a drink at the well before he went to the field. Bracing himself, he took the first step towards winning himself back as he walked down the street towards Hirō-san's: he could feel himself tensing as he drew closer to O-Ine-san's.

It was embarrassing how relieved he felt to find that her door was still closed, the engawa vacant. The battle had just begun, and already she had won the first skirmish.

Hirō's door stood open to the morning light and Kenshin could see the family seated for their morning meal. He hesitated to disturb them, but Hirō-san had noticed him and came to the door, bowing. "Ohayō gozaimasu, Himura-san! Do you need me for something?"

Bowing in return, Kenshin replied. "Ohayō, Hirō-san. Gomen kudasai. Forgive me for intruding on your morning. I had hoped to speak with your wife: Manabu-san said that she might be willing to sew for me. I have nothing of my own that is good to wear in the fields."

"Ah, sō ka? Come in. Have you eaten? You were on watch last night, weren't you? Come have some soup and barley." The older man waved him into the house. As they entered, the daughter quickly rose at a whisper from her mother and brought out a small table and a mat for their guest to sit on. Kenshin thanked her and sat in the indicated place, noticing as he did so that none of them were sitting on mats.

Hirō-san's wife ladled out some soup and filled a bowl with barley, which the daughter hastened to place before him. Several minutes were spent commenting on the weather and the rice crop. Kenshin could feel the gaze of the son as they spoke. The daughter he recognized as one of the young women from his first day in the field. Both children were old enough that he should know them, but though he had remembered that Hirō-san and his wife had children, he did not remember their faces or names. The gap in memory was unsettling.

'''''''''

She sat and listened as her parents made polite conversation with their unexpected guest. Though she had heard them speculating just last night on what his life might have been and why he was here now, it would remain a mystery unless he volunteered the information; her parents would never be so impolite as to ask directly. As for her, it was enough that he **was** here. It made life interesting. He was an intriguing stranger with a faint aura of familiarity.

Ever since Ayu-chan had asked her what she remembered, she had been sifting through her memories looking for him. There wasn't much: he was just Aiko-chan's odd-looking brother. The girls her age didn't have much to do with the boys of that age: the boys would either ignore them or tease them. The fact that he did **not** tease them, but was willing to listen to their silly stories or help with their childish problems, was the one thing that she clearly remembered.

But here he was now, at her family's table! The other girls would surely ask her about him… He had a nice voice: even and low and thoughtful. Most of the young men spoke loudly, as though they thought what they had to say was so important that everyone needed to hear it. He did not speak like anyone she had ever heard, but the oddity was somehow attractive…

She was abruptly pulled from her reverie by her mother's voice: "Kanna-chan, haven't you finished? Hurry, we need to see what has to be done so that Himura-san is not delayed too much." Do what? What had she missed? She ate the rest of her barley as quickly as she could without looking crude and helped her mother clear the dishes as her father and brother said good-bye to Himura-san and left for the fields. Their guest sat quietly with his cloth bundle and his sword at his side, waiting for them to finish.

"Now, Himura-san, let us look at the kimono," her mother said as they both knelt in front of him. He picked up the bundle and spread the cloth out in front of them: it was a pale grey padded kimono with an unbleached cotton lining. It was well made, but frayed along the edges and stained in a few places on the sleeves.

"I need something to wear in the fields. I had hoped that you could use the fabric from this kimono to make a jinbei."

Her mother pursed her lips and picked up a portion of the kimono to check the stitching. Looking thoughtful, she requested, "Please stand up, Himura-san." As he rose, she rose too, and held the kimono up against his back. Without an obi holding up the excess, several inches lay folded on the floor. Kanna was tempted to giggle, but held her face still. He was short! Almost as short as she was…

"There is a lot of fabric here that will not be needed. We can use just the lining, and then you will still have the kimono, as well. Kanna-chan! Please get me a cord."

Kanna hurried to get it. On her return, her eyes happened to meet Himura-san's. She was startled enough to pause in her steps until she caught herself and continued on to hand the cord to her mother. Like iris…his eyes were the pale blue-violet of iris. Kneeling again, she bowed her head demurely, hoping to hide the sudden confusion she felt.

"Kanna, please pay attention. This is how you measure for the bottoms." She knelt close to the samurai, and looking up, said, "Please excuse this Yui, Himura-san. It is necessary for me to do this." Her mother wrapped the cord around his waist and made a knot to mark the length. Then she held the cord at his waist, let it drop down along his leg, and made a knot a little below his knee. Once done, she moved back and invited him to sit again. "With Kanna's help, the jinbei should be done in a day or two. I think there will be enough that we can make a second set of drawers, if you would like."

"That would be very good. How much would you like me to pay you?"

Both Kanna and her mother stared a moment, before regaining their composure. It was odd for a samurai to be so blunt about payment. But then, he did seem a little uneasy…

"Himura-san, it is not necessary. You are helping us all by working in the fields." When he opened his mouth as though to protest, Yui said, "If you feel that you must give me something, let me have the padding from the kimono. You will not need it, and I can comb the cotton and spin it to use on my loom." She folded the kimono and set it aside, ending the conversation. "And now we all need to get out to the fields."

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Things had turned out fine this morning, after all. Kin had been afraid that it would be a miserable day when it had seemed as though all Hana wanted to do was talk about Himura-san. But after several less-than-enthusiastic responses, Hana had finally seemed to sense her friend's reluctance and had dropped the topic. The morning had been spent pleasantly, playing with the children in the shade of the trees. Hisa giggled now as Kin tickled her nose with a leaf; the sweet little girl was one of Kin's favorites.

"It's almost time for lunch, Kin. Aren't you going to take Yume to Junna-san?"

Kin jiggled her shoulders a little; the baby nestled against her back didn't move. "I guess so. She's asleep, but she's been asleep for a long time. Junna-san would rather feed her during break than have to stop later." She looked over at the field; everyone was starting to move to the banks and the shady places. "What about Minato?"

Hana lifted her hair off her neck and fanned herself with one hand. "I'll take him to Rise-san as soon as you get back."

Kin got up and walked down the bank to where Junna sat with several other women, laughing and talking as they waited for the midday rice to be brought out. She thanked the gods that Himura-san was not sitting close by. She did not want to see that disturbing face today. She had been confused and flustered enough when she encountered him in her house four days ago, but her confusion and guilt had grown with each glimpse of him since. Tomorrow she would not have to worry: she would be with O-Ine-san in the morning--and in the afternoon, she'd make sure she worked the southern field.

Returning, she sat down as Hana left. Hisa-chan and Fujiko-chan were playing quietly with their dolls, but Mugen and Kyouji began to argue over the ball. Before she could rise to stop him, Mugen had snatched the ball out of Kyouji's hands and pushed him down. Looking startled at his own actions, the larger boy dropped the ball and ran away. Kin knelt to make sure that Kyouji was all right, knowing that one of the adults would stop the truant in his flight. She was wiping his eyes with the sleeve of her kimono when a shadow fell over them. From the corner of her eye, she saw two chubby legs dangling in the air. Looking up, her heart seemed to stop: looking down at her with the strange eyes that were not part of her memory was the face that she had always thought was Shozo's.

'''''''

Kenshin withdrew from the rejection he felt, the not-quite-smile dying on his lips as he set the boy down and turned from the panic he saw in Kin's eyes. Naota was calling to him to come and eat, so he walked back, doing his best to ignore the hurt he felt at her reaction. He sat and ate silently, letting Naota carry the conversation. The children had been playing not far from the field he was in today, and his eyes had often strayed in their direction as he worked, remembering how good it had made him feel when the children of Ōtsu had sought him out as a playmate. He had felt the intervening years all too clearly as he watched Kin—her hair fixed as befitted a young woman—playing with the children as he had played with her. It had made a charming picture that tugged at him. When the boy had run past, he was grateful for the excuse to go over. _What has changed? She did not look at me like that when I was at her house…and we have not met since. _He remembered the night before, watching Kin walking home from O-Ine-san's. _Is this **her** doing? Has Kin listened to her tales… and believed?_

The sound of hearty laughter drew him from his brooding. Naota, Manabu, and Hirō were all laughing. When he did not, Naota shook his head at him as though he were hopeless not to get the joke.

'''''''

She felt badly. She had not done anything, or said anything, but evidently her thoughts had shown on her face, for the minute she had looked at him his expression had closed and he set Mugen down and left without a word. But for just a second—just a flash—she thought he had looked very sad. She had opened her mouth to call after him, but what would she say? 'I thought you were my brother!' 'Why do you have my brother's face?' It wasn't his fault that she was all muddled, but somehow she had hurt him…

Hana came back and they fed the children and kept them entertained, but her eyes often strayed to Himura-san that afternoon. Hana noticed, and teased her, but the samurai never looked their way.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

They had worked till it was almost too dark to see, and had made good progress. It was hoped that within another seven days, all the rice fields would be turned. The seedlings in their trays next to the villagers' houses were growing well and were nearly ready to plant. Noriya had decided that tonight they would begin to flood some of the turned fields so that they could be leveled and the embankments strengthened. Already, the gate had been opened to allow water from the stream to enter, and Kenshin could hear the gurgle of the water. He found that it disturbed him: he had to keep reminding himself that it was not the sound of water curling around the edge of the house, seeking a way in.

He had pulled one of the onions that remained in what used to be the garden. Onions always seemed to survive when nothing else did. He had seen a melon vine, too, the other morning when he spent a few minutes cleaning out some weeds. He needed to either speak to some of the women about buying something from their gardens, or go to Mitō. _I need to get to Mitō anyway if I'm going to write to Katsura. _Tonight, however, dinner would be a small bowl of rice and onions.

"Himura-san!" At the call, Kenshin walked back around to the front of the house to find Manabu standing at the stairs.

"Ah, there you are. I've come to invite you to eat dinner and watch the moon with us." He looked at the single onion with disapproval. "And it looks like I'm just in time. That's a pitiful onion."

Kenshin shrugged. "There's not much left of the garden. Do you have enough plants in yours to sell me some?"

"Oro?" The older man looked briefly startled and then thoughtful. "Hai. We could spare one or two. What do you need?"

"I will take anything. In fact, there are several things I need besides plants." Kenshin sat down on the steps and gestured with the onion towards his list. "I would rather spend my money here than in town, but I have hesitated to ask anyone, not wishing to offend. And not knowing who would be best to ask."

Manabu strolled over and looked down at the charcoal scratches. "Your handwriting is better than it used to be…but it is still pretty bad." Kenshin was taken back by the rude remark until he saw the gleam in his friend's eyes. Manabu smiled at his reaction. "I do not think these things will be too hard to come by. I will mention it to Honomi-san tonight. By mid-day tomorrow, everyone in town will know. Now, let us go to dinner. Leave the onion here: I do not think it would make a good thank-you gift."

Kenshin dropped the onion and rose, feeling cheered by the older man's nonsense. He briefly considered leaving the sakabatou behind, but habit was still too strong. He picked it up and followed his friend.

''''''''

The sakabatou stood just inside the door, seeming out of place in the cheer of the room. The dinner of soup, barley, and small fish with boiled vegetables had ended, but the conversation continued over the cups of weak tea. Kenshin had not been allowed to stay entirely silent: he had to defend himself as Rishou and his parents kept reminding him of incidents of his childhood—usually those where he had been led into mischief by Naota. It was amazing to him that he could bring himself to speak of earlier times. But this family had lived through it: out of the three boys missing from the family group, only one was off at the war. The other two had died young, just after his mother and Shinpei. He and these people had gathered ashes together…but their life had gone on. Now, they were sitting and laughing, and there was a new child—a girl—who must have been born within a year or two of his departure. She sat with wide eyes, listening to the stories about the boy that he had been.

"Himura-san, would you like anything else?" Honomi lifted the rice paddle in encouragement. When he waved in denial, she set the paddle down and asked, "How have you been managing without a servant to cook for you? It is no wonder that you are so small! Manabu-san's short kosode looks almost like a regular kimono on you!"

Manabu and Rishou both laughed at his expression, while young Naeko looked on in confusion at the way her family was treating the samurai. Hadn't they told her that she must be careful to "always be respectful"?

"I cook."

At his words, Honomi's forehead wrinkled with astonishment and she covered her mouth with her sleeve. Rishou looked puzzled and asked, "But when you were with your lord, or at war, were there not servants to cook for you?"

"Hai. I learned before I became Ishin Shishi. Shishou and I lived in an isolated location; we had no servants. I learned to cook then."

"Iya!" Rishou exclaimed. "Next, you'll be telling us you do laundry!"

Kenshin blushed.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

----He was so tired. So tired, and so thirsty. Maybe that was why he kept thinking he heard the sound of water. He had gotten up once to look out the door, but nothing had changed: the mud and debris that had taken the place of street, gardens, and fields were still there, as were the rocks and fallen trees jammed against the trees still standing, blocking all access to the stream that still ran dangerously high and fast and muddy. After the flood, the gods had sent slight relief in that there had been a week or so of no rain, and today there was just the faintest drizzle. It would have been worrisome for the rice, but there was no longer any rice to worry about…

Had that been a sound? He returned to where his father lay and resumed his vigil. It hurt him to look at his father-- the strong man of just a week ago reduced to being cared for like a baby--, but he had held Otōsan's head as he vomited, and changed his soiled clothes with the tenderness and respect that he had seen his father use as he cared for his dying wife and infant. He and Otōsan had worked together to try and comfort Shinshu and Aiko once they fell ill, giving up most of their ration of water to the invalids' raging thirst. They had stood together watching the fires as Okaasan, Shinpei, and Shinshu were reduced to ashes overnight. But by the time Aiko's whispery voice had fallen silent and the only sound to hear was the hurried pace of her shallow breathing, his father's stomach was cramping with nausea.

They both knew what that meant, but his father had been calm, concerned only for his remaining son's welfare. Otōsan had made sure that his son drank his full share of the water, and ate some of what little food they had salvaged. "You must stay healthy and strong to be able to care for me. And to continue the family," he had said. He had stayed calm, and dignified, doing his best to aid in his own care: trying to always use the bucket when he vomited, eating less so there would be less to clean when he could no longer control his bowels, being gracious and unembarrassed as he had to accept such intimate care from his child.

They had watched the progress of the sickness as it consumed the lives of four of their family: his father knew when it might be his last time to speak coherently. He already could no longer move much on his own. He had not thrown up nor made any kind of mess for a few hours…

"Bring me… my juban…, please, Shinta-kun." His father's voice was faint and high-pitched. He ran to get the plain garment to cover his father's nakedness. After he was clothed, his father lay on his side quietly, resting. Gathering his strength. Finally, he opened his eyes again.

"Shinta-kun… Remember your lessons… Remember the sakura. Death comes to all of us…. Life may be brief, but can be… beautiful… We have had a good life as a family… You will live; the Himura line will continue,… and that is good… But remember: it does not matter…what class you are; …if you live the seven virtues, you will be …a man worthy… of honor and respect." His father could speak no more, but opened his hand where it lay. He put his hand into it and felt how cold his father's skin was as the larger hand closed over his small one and gave a weak squeeze. He sat without moving. After several moments, his father's eyes opened once again, but had difficulty focusing.

"I should have… written...my death poem… my thoughts… keep drifting." A long silence. "You have been… a good son, Shinta."

His father had not spoken again, though he had sat there the rest of the night, his hand in his father's. Now it was late morning. Soon it would be time for the water to be doled out, to make his way past stares either pitying or resentful. But he could not leave. It would not be long now: his father's eyes had sunken, giving his face almost the appearance of a skull. His hand was so cold…the only sign of life was quick sigh of breath through cracked lips.

So tired…

…and then he realized—the breathing had stopped.----

Kenshin's eyes snapped open to the dark, still feeling the despair. It had happened here, in this room; it felt as though if he could break through some unseen barrier, it would still be there—Otōsan's body lying slack and alien, while he sat and waited for the eta to come and take it to be burned. It seemed so real…so **present;**…if he could only find the way, he would step back into that frozen moment and magically set things right.

He sat up, and the sense of possibility wavered and then vanished as he got to his feet. All was ordinary again: just a plain room faintly lit by the light of the moon coming through the window slats, with only his small stack of belongings to show anyone's presence. His heart beat hard and heavy in his chest and he could taste the bitterness of past helplessness as he stood, purposeless, his unseeing eyes following the path of light as it filtered through the window and across the scroll.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

**16th day**

Eternity had compacted into a single, endless, tormented night. He had not slept again, but the dream stayed with him, cycling over and over in his mind till he felt lost and hollow. He had gone out into the yard behind the house in search of the peace found in the patterns of the kata, but had given up quickly when he could not remember what came next because his mind was filled with his father's dead face. He could not read or mend for the tears that kept coming to his eyes, so he finally just sat and cried and laid back down in the dark, feeling as empty as his father's body had looked after his spirit had left. At some point, he became aware of the silence. The almost-subliminal sound of water had ceased: the watch must have closed the north water gate to open the southern one. The absence of that sound was a small mercy, as was the eventual lightening of the room. The night had ended.

Kenshin rose, and, having no appetite, merely picked up sword and hoe and left the house. But the desolation stayed with him, blinding him to the fresh greens, soft grays, and rich browns of the village in the early morning. He did not notice the budding trees, or the birdcalls, but went straight to work in the field where they had left off, eyes on nothing but the blade of his hoe.

The others were surprised to find him there--a wide space already cleared around him—as they arrived in family groups to start the day's labor. Some called a greeting and were dismayed to apparently be ignored; some merely raised their eyebrows at the odd whims of the samurai; Naota and Manabu joined him as had become their wont, but he did not even look at them.

"Oi, Kenshin! What brought you out so early? You'll make the rest of us look bad if you work so hard!" When his jesting elicited no more than a hunched shoulder, Naota gripped his friend's arm to make him pause and gave it a slight shake. "Kenshin…what's wrong?" When the red head finally raised and a pale, set stare met his eyes, a chill crept over him. "What happened?! You look like death!"

A humorless smile twisted the grim mouth: "Aa." Naota took an involuntary step back, struck by unease; this was not a Kenshin he knew… He looked helplessly towards Manabu and the older man gestured discreetly for him to leave. With a last nervous look, Naota left to join a group of his other friends. Kenshin watched him impassively and then let his eyes slide over to where Manabu leaned on his hoe. When his father's friend made no comment, Kenshin turned and once again began to attack the earth. _Of course I look like death…I **am** death to all around me. Perhaps you, too, will die…_

Manabu stood a moment longer, watching the young man with a concern that he had not let his face show. Finally, he said nothing, but began to work, staying close to his dear friend's troubled child.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

"Have you seen? The sakura buds are starting to show a little pink; I noticed when I went to the well this morning," Yui asked as she tucked up her kimono before stepping down into the water.

Honomi laughed, the mud cool and soft underfoot while she waited for her friend. "Even without seeing the buds, I can tell it's almost time for hana-mi. Look at the young ones: all the young men are watching the girls, and all the girls are pretending not to notice."

Yui nodded. "Nothing's changed since we were young." She entered the water, wincing at its chill. "I still look forward to eating hanakaida when we go into Mitō."

Bending to scoop up the mud and pack it into the eroded spots of the embankment, Honomi replied, "Mitō? Is the weaving done, then?"

"Aa. Well, nearly. Nami-chan has gotten very good—her selvages are nice and even and the surface is smooth—but she's rather slow. Her pace would improve with more practice. We should get her a loom."

"Do you think Naota would let her have one? Or should I say, do you think Maruko would let her?"

Yui looked perplexed. "Why not? It would be more money for their family. You know the han lets us keep a portion of what we weave. Of course, we do share with anyone who helps us spin the thread."

Honomi concentrated very carefully on smoothing her patch—not looking at her friend—as she answered, "I don't think Maruko wants Nami to be any more important to their family. Naota has been the only person in Maruko's eyes since his father died. I…don't think she likes having to share him with a wife."

Yui made a sympathetic noise. "Ah, sō ka? I'm sorry to hear that. Nami-chan is a very thoughtful girl. Surely she will win Maruko over eventually.' She was silent a moment and then looked archly at the other woman while she pushed a strand of hair back with her wrist. "Naeko is very dutiful also. She would make a fine daughter-in-law."

"Now you have mud on your face!" Honomi laughed.Yui was glad to see her back to her cheerful self. "Naeko a daughter-in-law! Where did that idea come from?"

"I've seen Iori watching her. She's too young, and he's just barely come of age, but in a few years…"

Honomi straightened and regarded the two in question, across the field from each other. Naeko was working hard, like the conscientious girl she was, but Yui's son kept glancing over as he bent to scoop up more mud. In a field behind him, a flash of red caught her eye and reminded her as she bent down again…

"Oya! I meant to tell you….Himura-san wishes to buy some things from anyone in the village that can spare them."

Yui wrinkled her brow. "What kind of things? He already offered to pay me to make a jinbei, but I wouldn't take his money. I told him to give me the padding from his kimono instead."

"Just ordinary things: oil for a lamp, a chest to store food, a dish or two, plants or seeds. Why wouldn't you take his money?"

"Sakutarou-sensei and Shinsaku-sensei taught without receiving payment. I would not feel right asking for money. And he may be samurai, but he looks poorer than us." She straightened and told off her points on mud-covered fingers. "He has no servant and only one sword. His kimono is well made, but of the most ordinary cloth—the lining is even undyed! And the hems have been turned several times and are badly frayed now.—Don't I remember Junsuke-san saying that the jiisan—Kodai-san?—told his family to never forget they'd been samurai? So now Shinta-kun is one, and what does he do? Comes back to the people that sold him. Why, unless he has hardly any money and nowhere to go? Whatever money he has, he better save. If he needs such things, why don't we just lend them to him? If he does stay, then maybe we can figure out a way for him to pay for them."

Honomi stared at her earnest friend, thinking. "You are right. We can talk to the others when we eat." She swatted at a bug and left a splotch of mud on her own face; they'd both be filthy by the end of the day. With a grimace, she bent back to work. "Were you serious about Naeko and Iori?"

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

"Otōsan?'

Noriya looked up from where he was hacking a particularly difficult weed to find that his daughter had picked her way across the field to him and stood with her head bowed respectfully, waiting for him to notice her. "Why are you not with O-Ine-san? Is something wrong?"

Kin bowed to her father. "I do not know, Otōsan. O-Ine-san is still not well, but does not seem any worse. Only, she has seemed anxious all morning. Now she has sent me to respectfully request that you please give her the favor of your presence as quickly as possible."

The shoya wiped at the sweat that had escaped the cloth wrapped around his brow and considered. It would soon be time for the midday meal and he was pleased with the progress they were making. He could take time to do a brief clean-up and go see what the old woman wanted. He glanced around, making sure nothing needed his attention, and then turned to his daughter. "Very well. You may return to her, Kin, and tell her that I will come to see her shortly."

"Hai, Otōsan. Arigato." Bowing again, she returned the way she had come, stumbling slightly in the loose soil. Noriya crossed over to the bank and leaned his hoe against it before he stepped up onto the path and made his way back to his house to sponge off and straighten his clothing. He did not look forward to this visit, but if she had not been so ill, he knew it was likely that she would have demanded his presence days ago. He might be wrong, but he was almost certain what had upset her. ..

He arrived, suitably groomed, and was met at the door by his daughter, who bowed him into the single room fragrant with the herbs hanging from the roof beams and stuffed, he knew, into innumerable drawers. His nose twitched, as it always did, with a desire to sneeze, and he stifled it, as he always did. She moved to the screen at one side of the room and knelt to speak softly to the invalid, then bowed and began to push the screen back.

Noriya was relieved to see that O-Ine was sitting up, though her color was still not good. Her hunched, shrunken form wrapped in her kimono looked very much like a child playing dress-up, but her eyes when she looked up were sharp and glittering. She was **not** pleased. He knelt near her futon and bowed. "Ohayo gozaimasu, O-Ine-san. It is good to see you looking so much better."

The old woman bowed in return and grumbled a greeting. Looking over at the young woman kneeling quietly by the door, O-Ine said, "Go ahead and leave, Kin-chan. Your father and I must talk privately. Who will be here after the meal?"

"Emiko will come, O-Ine-san." She looked to her father for his approval, and at his nod, bowed and rose, slipping out the door.

Noriya remained silent as she stared at him in a way guaranteed to make him feel that she remembered every foolish thing he had done since infancy. His father had felt that it was worth it to stand against her; did he?

"I have just found out that the kitsune no youkai is back. And that** you** have made it possible for it to stay. Have you no thought for this village? Has it charmed you already, like it charmed your parents?" She practically spat the words.

He had known of the conflict between her and his father, but had never witnessed the arguments. He had been prepared for anger, yes, but the old woman that he **knew** was gentle with the sick, and loving with little children, had disappeared completely into the hostile crone before him. It was almost as though the very thought of Himura had turned **her** into a demon. Perhaps his father was right: what had Himura ever done in his years as a child to deserve such malevolence directed towards him?

What had he done since he reappeared? Nothing but work hard. He had caused no trouble and made no mention of past grudges. Indeed, his efforts were a great help to the village with so many gone. True, he still didn't know if Himura really was Katsura's man--or even a samurai--, but since he was not trying to assert that rank, it hardly seemed to matter.

"Hai. I have given him permission to stay for a while. I have been watching him and see nothing to make me think he is youkai."

"Of course you haven't. It's kitsune! It'll lie and trick and fool your eyes until you let down your guard. And then it will destroy you. Just as it nearly wiped out this village ten years ago."

"We had been flooded before. How can you blame that on him?"

"Flooded, yes. Not our homes ruined; not half or more of the villagers dead. None of my medicines would work. Your own son died! Doesn't that matter to you?"

Noriya's hands clenched on his thighs at her cutting words. Not matter? Even now--even with Norikazu—he still missed his first-born. But how could he blame his death on a child only three years older?

His silence inflamed her further. "The kitsune has charmed you all so that you do not even think! When have you **ever **seen fox-colored hair on anyone else? And just tell me—what color are its eyes?"

The shoya opened his mouth to say 'purple', but closed it without a word. When he had seen him just days ago, hadn't his eyes looked grey? Or was it green? Finally he replied, "We did think it was strange for Shinsaku-sensei's child to have such coloring. But Sakutarou-sensei said that his grandfather told him that a gaijin was in their family line. That was where **he** thought the red hair came from. And I have heard there **are** gaijin with red hair and eyes that are not brown."

"Pah! When has there ever been a gaijin in this village? I **knew** the 'samurai': Kodai. He'd lived here for **years** before I came as a bride. No one here ever knew him when he was supposedly a samurai; they just took him at his word. And there were never any gaijin, either. But how perfectly fitting for a kitsune to have red hair! It must laugh every time it hears the gaijin tale."

Noriya felt as though he were caught in a typhoon. His brain was baffled by her chaos: he spoke, but she didn't hear. She was not sensible, but swept all before her in her fury.

"You will not listen," She hissed in frustration. "Well, I will tell you one thing that you will not be able to ignore: that 'boy' was **never** sick. Think of any illness that struck the village—even when 'he' was a baby—smallpox, fever, cholera. When was 'he' ever sick? Every other member of that family died, but 'he' never even threw up. We saw 'him' every day, getting water, and 'he' was **healthy! IT** is **not** human."

The old woman crossed her arms and leaned back in satisfaction at the shoya's stunned expression. It was true: though he obviously had never paid attention to things like runny noses, in any major illness that had swept the village he remembered Shinta-kun healthy, running errands for his family and continuing to work with whatever adults were still on their feet. The hair at his nape prickled.

And then he gave his head a shake. His memory also told him that he could not remember Shinta-kun ever doing an unkind thing, or saying something mean. How could such a child be youkai? No, his father had been right. O-Ine-san was a good woman, important to their village, but on this one thing, she was crazed. At least, now the so-called youkai was an adult and could stand up for himself. But it would not be a good thing to allow offense if he **was** Katsura's retainer. Noriya would have to rein her in as much as was possible. Would she be angry enough to withhold her medicines? He would deal with that **if** it happened.

"He stays. It is only for a few months. He has done nothing to cause trouble and we need every man. I do not believe he is youkai. Leave him alone." Noriya stood and bowed, wishing her good health, then turned and left her fuming.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

It had been a long time since a dark mood had lasted so long. By the end of the day, Kenshin was still weighed down by depression, but could at least bring himself to raise his head and speak.

In the morning, he had ignored any who had approached, almost wishing to be back at the Kohagi-ya where the other Ishin Shishi had feared him and left him mostly alone. These people were so foolish—so innocent! They treated him as though he were still the boy they remembered. What would they do if they knew how many he had killed? How many families he had torn apart, murdering brother, son, or…father. Those who knew had avoided him.

He had pretended to be unaware of the quiet presence of Manabu a small distance off. He was darkly amused at the man's unspoken redirection of anyone who neared them—as though he thought Kenshin **needed** a protector.

But by the midday break, he was feeling guilty. Why should he deride anyone willing to trust? And how could he mock the older man for sacrificing the convivial company that was usually shared because of the concern for himself that he could so clearly feel? Who, since Tomoe, had ever had any concern for him? Katsura—though they were both always aware that part of that concern was for Kenshin's usefulness to the cause. Briefly, the family he had stayed with after Nishiwaki came to mind…but he had pushed them away: they did not truly know him. Why should he punish this man for his kindness with such sullen behavior? Still, he could not bring himself to respond. He did not **want **the kindness! And yet, he **did**,so much…

Now, exhausted by emotions as much as by the day's labor, he looked at his father's friend and asked, "Why did you stay?"

Manabu regarded him closely, his weathered, pockmarked face gentle and memories in his eyes. Quietly he answered, "I think you already know." He set his large hand lightly, cautiously, on Kenshin's shoulder. "Shall we go home?"

The warmth of that hand loosened some of the tightness that had been in his chest all day. He sighed and replied, "Arigato, Manabu-san. You go ahead. There is something I need to do first."

Manabu didn't move—just stared at him with one eyebrow raised. Kenshin attempted a reassuring smile, though it came out crooked. "I'll be all right."

The older man continued his scrutiny for another minute and then nodded and turned away. "I'll watch for you…"

Kenshin stood tiredly at the edge of the field, watching as the others headed for their homes, friends parting to join their families for the evening. He saw Naeko join her father just before Honomi met them at the edge of the fields, talking animatedly and gesturing with muddy hands. Ushio's wife, with Fujiko toddling alongside, met her husband near their house and looked on as he swung the little girl up into the air. Kenshin could hear her squeal of laughter as it mingled with the voices fading as the fields emptied. Soon, he was standing alone except for the man –_Is that Seiji-san_?—a few fields over, adjusting the water gates to flood new fields. Taking a deep breath and letting it slowly out, he began walking towards the well and the path beyond. In the gaps between houses, he caught glimpses of children running. There seemed so few…

The mountainsides were a warm, dappled, green-gold in the late sun shining from the end of the valley. A flight of birds passed overhead and as he lifted his eyes to watch them, he noticed for the first time the budding trees at this end of the village, their branches only hinting at their future splendor. _"Remember the sakura…"_ He paused under one of the trees, reaching up to touch a bud. They would be so beautiful, and so brief. Like his family. Young as he had been, why had he not done more, said more, **been **more for them? Another one of his father's lessons understood too late.

By the time he crossed the street and started up the path, the street was nearly empty. Through open doorways, he could see the bustle of evening. Many would want to try to fit in a visit to the stream before full dark and the evening meal; they'd be gathering whatever laundry or children needed to be scrubbed. But he had no pressing needs, and his family was up this small rise, waiting for him.

He came before their graves once again, caressing the stones before pouring out some of the water he'd drawn from the well. Siblings first, then his parents, where he knelt. Bowing, he spoke to them softly, "Otōsan, Okaasan, I ask for your help. I do not understand why I feel I must stay here. Being here without you is so hard…each familiar thing tears at me and makes me feel your loss anew. And last night…last night…" He swallowed hard against the tightness in his throat and forced himself on. "Last night, I watched you die again. I cannot close my eyes without seeing your faces in death. Please, please, let me see your faces again as they were in life. I do not know what more I could have done. Otōsan, you know that I did all you told me, and I prayed as hard as I could at the shrine; I even left the house so that O-Ine-san would come help." _But none of it saved you. Everything important that I have tried to do right has led to disaster for those around me. You all died. … I tried to help change the country so everyone could be happy, but instead I killed so many…I tried to live quietly and protect my wife, and instead she died at my hand…_

Finally, he spoke aloud the thought that had recurred so often, never actually expressed: "Is there…something…wrong with me?"

Abruptly, in his mind he heard them: not any thoughtful words of his father, but the caustic tones of Shishou. **"**_Baka! What, you think that you might be a demon? For once, think with your head instead of your heart. I'm far stronger than you, and considerably less concerned about being kind, and **I'm** no demon.---Do not even **think** that next thought!--- I think that eliminates the possibility that **you** are one."_

Shishou had been kind, though. The kind things he did were just done in the most crude and abrasive fashion imaginable, easily missed if you didn't watch for them.

He had not believed in demons, and was of the opinion that the gods gave man only an occasional passing thought—which favor he returned in the same casual way. Had he ever said those words? There was a ring of familiarity about them, but no clear recollection. He had been scolded often enough in a similar fashion in his early months with Shishou—months when his family's death and the slaughter on the road were still foremost in his mind. Shishou bullied him out of his doubts and gloom, never letting him sink too far.

One more knot loosened…Kenshin sat there amidst the stones, not happy, not content, but calmer. With his family around him, he watched the sunset: the brilliant gold softening to rose, and then sliding into a gentle indigo as the birds hushed and the slight breeze teased his hair. Reluctantly, he bowed and bid them goodnight before he rose to his feet to return to the empty house.

''''''''

The sound of voices could be heard from the bathing pool downstream from his house. If the bathers did not go home soon, they would need lights to find their way back. As he passed through the break in his fence, he could see in the almost-dark that there was an odd assortment of things stacked on his small engawa. Approaching, he could make out a straw futon, a box, some jars, some plants… At the soft slap of zori, he turned to find Manabu crossing the street to join him.

"There is more here than I asked for; I do not know if I can pay for all of it," Kenshin worried.

"It doesn't matter. They don't want you to pay them. That's why they left the things here instead of handing them to you. When you are ready to leave the village, they will come back and get them." In the dimness, the planes of the older man's face flattened and his skin was ghostly pale. Briefly, it seemed as if an obake had indeed come to find Kenshin.

"But there is food here, too, that I will need to replace. Why wouldn't they let me pay them? I **do **have money." He was perplexed and disturbed: the money would have helped the villagers with their own expenses.

Manabu turned his palms up, as though to ask what he could do about it, and sat down on the steps in the way he had been accustomed to, years ago. "The things came from those who knew your family. They want to do it. Let them. In this way, they can repay the debt they feel they owe to your father and grandfather. And to you. It will make them happy."

Kenshin sat down next to him, feeling a sense of disorientation to be sitting in his father's place next to the older man. If Manabu-san was not willing to tell him who had left what, he would have to accept what had been done and be grateful.

"Would you like to eat with us tonight?"

"Iie. Arigato." He looked down at his hands, studying his new calluses, hiding behind his bangs. "I would not be good company for your family." He could sense the other man's reluctance to leave him alone, his hesitation to leave. "Go back to your family, Manabu-san. Putting all these things away will keep me busy until it is time to sleep."

With a grunt and a nod, his father's friend arose. "Oyasuminasai, Himura-san. I will see you in the morning."

Kenshin rose, too, and as Manabu-san left, turned to the task of sorting through the bounty that had been bestowed on him unexpectedly. He feared the coming night, but perhaps the kindness shown by his neighbors would gentle his dreams.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

"There he goes. Do you think he's really samurai?" Yataka asked the others as they came out of the banya.

"Who knows? I heard Okaasan talking; evidently there's a rumor going around amongst the women that the message Noriya-san sent was about Himura…and that it was sent to Katsura Kogoro." Teppei pushed his unruly hair out of his eyes and looked around at the other young men, smug at knowing something they hadn't-- even his big brother Chūgo.

Chūgo, with the authority of one who had his own household, counseled, "You better not help spread that rumor. Noriya-san makes life hard for anyone prying into his business." He watched as Himura disappeared between the houses.

"Talk about making life hard! Did you hear him ask Manabu-san why Rishou-kun wasn't back, the other day? I couldn't believe it!-- You know, that family is so perfect I'd like to hate them.-- Anyway, I guess Rishou's interested in some girl in Mitō and his father isn't happy about it." Ichita picked up a handful of pebbles and began to idly pitch them at a bush.

"Really? Have you seen her, Ichita-kun?" Chūgo asked curiously as he sat down on the steps.

Ichita scratched his head. "Maybe. But the girl I saw him talking to last time we went to market wasn't anywhere near as pretty as our girls, so maybe not."

"No one's as pretty as Ayu-chan." Teppei remarked.

Ichita tossed a pebble at him. "She'd be mad if she heard you call her Ayu-CHAN. We all know you think Ayu is perfect. But she's not looking at you; she's looking at Himura-san."

Yataka stretched with a grunt, "**All** the girls are looking at Himura-san. And the older women keep talking about how cute and sweet he was. It's revolting." Twisting, he felt his muscles loosen; it felt good after bending over all day.

"I don't like him." Teppei growled in irritation as he glared at Yataka and Ichita. "Ojiisan doesn't either."

"True, he doesn't." Chūgo replied. "But I liked him, though he was better friends with Naota and Rishou. And it was really bad that his family died and he got sold like that."

"Nanda? It was his family that died in that house?" Ichita asked in horror. "I figured he let Noriya-san put him there because he didn't know about it. Iya! How could he stay there?"

"What I want to know is: if his family died and he was sold, how can he be samurai? Do you think he's pretending? Anyone ever seen him draw his sword? Maybe it's one of those fakes: just a tsuka fitted to the saya." Yataka speculated.

"Supposedly, his… great? great-great?—I don't know—one of his grandfathers—was samurai but lost his rank and moved here. Our grandfather remembers the man from when he was young. Something happened then that offended our family. He won't say what, but he's disliked that family ever since. Remember how he told Otōsan not to let us play with Shinta-kun?" He looked at his younger brother, who sat down, scowling.

"Was that Kodai? When we first moved here and Manabu-san started teaching Otōsan how to use a bō, Otōsan asked where he had learned and Manabu-san said that years ago a former samurai named Kodai had taught all the village men and they'd taught the boys as they got old enough. Was that him?" Ichita asked, intrigued .

"Hai. That sounds like what I've heard." Chūgo agreed.

"Well, if Himura-san **is **samurai, why is he working fields with us? Do you think he's been outlawed and is trying to hide? No one would think to look here, certainly." Yataka said as he stretched out on the ground.

"Baka. Noriya-san has to report people that stay in the village: he couldn't hide here. I think that he was probably just such a poor fighter that they let him go. I mean, look at him. He's three years older than me, but I was bigger than him when I was seven and I'm still bigger than him! Himura's a runt. Look at the scars he has: he must have lost every fight he's ever been in. I bet I could beat him with a bō," Teppei proclaimed.

Yataka made a rude noise. "**You're** baka. You don't only get scars when you lose. I think Ichita's right: you're just jealous because the girls are paying attention to him and not you." He pulled down his eye and made a face.

Teppei began to rise, his face flushed with temper, but before he could approach the reclining Yataka, Chūgo snapped, "Teppei-kun. Settle down. We are supposed to be on watch, not brawling." He looked over to his friend Ichita. "You and Yataka better leave." As the other two left the banya and started down the slope, Chūgo looked at his brother in disgust. "You let yourself get mad too easily. Just ignore Yataka. If you start a fight, we'll all be in trouble."


	8. Chapter 8 Shades and Shadows, Pt2

**Disclaimer—**Ah, to dream…but Kenshin's not mine, nor is Tomoe. Watsuki invented him and all those huge corporations (Sony, Viz, etc.) made lots of money. I make nothing. (But Katsura is historical and everybody in the village is mine.)

**A/N:** There will be one more part to this chapter. Sorry it's taken me so long…

ken—5.965 feet

shishi—a shortened term for Ishin Shishi, but also the name of a mythological lion-like creature with red or white hair (this particular dance is Renjishi, staged for the first time in 1861)

matte—wait

Setsubun—usually refers to a festival in February, celebrating the beginning of spring (although it really is the day before the beginning of any season); the other name for the spring celebration is Risshun

dame—Stop; be quiet

omekake—concubine ( a recognized bond, but of lower status than a wife and not as binding)

O-hana-mi--cherry blossom viewing

year of the Rat—here, 1864

shotai—the 'irregular' troops of Choshu (as opposed to the official han army, the sempotai), made of groups that were often mixtures of samurai and peasants; the Kiheitai was one of them, and so was the Yūgekitai

Mukunashi—the conservative government that took over Choshu after the disastrous battle of the Forbidden Gates (Kinmon no hen) in Kyōto that sent Katsura into hiding and turned court opinion against Choshu.

naginata--weapon with a curved blade about 2' long set on a staff varying in length from about 3' to 5'

ri—2.4 miles, remember?

Shichi-go-san—a celebration of a child's 3, 5, or 7th birthday in which they are taken to the temple by their parents

nishiki-e---colored woodblock prints

Koko Shinbun--one of the first newspapers published in Japanese. It ran for a few months in 1868 before it was shut down by the government.

**Cultural Notes: **The oath mentioned was the first public statement of the government's (and Emperor Meiji's) goals for the future. The translation is from the entry on Wikipedia.

It is perfectly possible that postings on kosatsu were written in all hiragana, so as to be readable by everyone. But I haven't been able to find out, and I'm choosing to assume that at least some kanji was used, since many village boys were taught by priests who could read kanji, and it was the men that mattered.

Samurai were not to marry outside of their rank. (Actually, none of the other ranks were, either, but it was tolerated more in the lower 3.)

Armies sent by the Bakufu: after the assault made on the palace gates by Choushuu in 1864, the Bakufu sent an army against the han. The battle is known as the War on Four Sides.

The rape seed quote is taken from A Cultural Atlas of Japan by Martin Colcutt, et al, and is a contemporary saying of the time.

**Reminders:** Yasu is the mother of the current headman. It was she and her husband that took Kenshin in after his parents died. Yui is the wife of Hiro and Kanna's mom. She's the one that got the idea of loaning Kenshin stuff.

Remember, we're doing Japanese aging, here.

**Shades and Shadows, pt2**

**17th day, 3rd Month**

He had slept the sleep of exhaustion, deep and heavy, but the mental oblivion that he had been granted seemed reluctant now to leave: he awoke much later than normal, feeling lethargic in both body and brain. The thought of leaving the house in such a state made him uneasy—for too many years his life had been balanced on his speed and intuition. _I have to do this; I cannot hide till I feel better. All I will need today is endurance and a strong back, _he reassured himself as he headed for the fields, feeling slow and dull. Vulnerable. Aching. _I have not felt like this since…Tomoe's death._ His mouth settled into a grim line at the thought as he forced himself into the day.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''

After hearing from his wife the rumor that Himura-san was one of Katsura Kogoro's samurai, her father had pondered a bit, finally deciding that it would be wise to do what they could to win his good opinion. Who knew what such a connection could lead to? It was thanks to that rumor that she now had to share her futon with Hana: her younger sister's had joined the stack of items on Himura-san's engawa. If Ayu knew her mother, sometime in the next few days word would magically reach Himura-san's ears as to who had generously provided him with such an excellent bed.

Ayu straightened and slowly wiped the back of her hand across her brow, sure that at least one set of male eyes would be caught by the gesture. She had chosen to hoe rather than repair banks because she disliked the feel of the mud; it would be bad enough when she had to help plant the seedlings. And it put her closer to Himura-san. She pulled a cloth from her sash and dabbed at her face as she casually looked around, letting her eyes linger briefly on him as he worked several ken away from her.

He was attractive, she acknowledged. She had enjoyed watching him with the other girls those first days, excited by a new face, but he was not really the type that attracted her. He was a little too **pretty**. She preferred men more like Naota: large, strong, and obviously virile. She had had hopes of Naota, until it became apparent that he would marry Nami. However, she knew that her father would be pleased if she managed to catch the attention of Himura-san, and these last couple of days had piqued her interest. The almost-blank expression that he wore had settled into something harder that caused people to approach him cautiously. She had even seen Naota back away from something that he said, nervous enough to leave Himura-san and join another group. Perhaps there was more to Himura-san than she had thought.

Now, she just had to find an acceptable way to approach him….

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Kin chewed her lip as she absentmindedly picked up the shapeless 'doll' and handed it back to Yume, while her eyes remained fixed on Himura-san where he labored in the field next to them, back shiny with the sweat of his exertions. He still had that stern look…Surely her unthinking rebuff two days ago could not have displeased him so greatly? She was silly—and vain—to think that anything she did would have such an effect on someone. But she kept remembering that impression of sadness…

She picked up the doll for Yume, who had thrown it yet again, wishing that she had someone to talk to, to distract her thoughts from him. She was alone with the smallest children today: Hisa and Mugen had gone with their mothers to learn how to mend the banks, and Fujiko's mother had kept her with her as she wove, fearful that the child was getting sick. With so few to watch, it was silly to take more than one girl away from the field work. So she had nothing to keep her thoughts from constantly returning to the man in front of her…who never once looked her way.

It was still unsettling to think that her memories of an older brother who played games with her and let her help in the garden, or just held her on his lap with his arms wrapped tightly around her ended so abruptly not because Oniisan had died, but because Himura-san had been sold. But Baba-san had assured her that the person she remembered was not Shozo-- who had been only two years her elder and busy with his own friends and field work before he had died--, but rather Himura-san, who had lived with them for a few months. It made her uncomfortable to think that the lingering warmth of affection that had attached itself to her brother's name truly belonged to this man, this stranger who…wasn't.

Because the face was familiar, and dear, and she didn't want him to be upset with her. What could she do? It would be unseemly for her to approach him on her own.

Kyouji chose that moment to become bored with his sticks. He got up and began to run in wide circles around her, surprisingly fast for his age. Yume climbed into her lap and stuck the doll in Kin's face to regain her attention. Kin was about to warn Kyouji to not go too far, but was struck with an idea. It had brought **him** to her once—perhaps it would again? She called Kyouji back and told him:

"See that man with red hair? If you want to run, you may run that far. But just this once." Kyouji looked over at Himura-san and back at her, uncertainty clear on his little face. Feeling guilty, Kin repeated, "Just that far, and just this once. He's a kind man and won't mind."

With one more look to make sure she meant it, Kyouji sped off as fast as his short legs would take him, jumping down into the field and running straight towards Himura-san. Minota on her back and Yume in her lap gave her a perfectly good reason to not immediately follow. As she slowly got to her feet, she watched Kyouji run up to Himura-san and-- trusting her word that he was a nice man-- grab his leg and grin up at him. The young man paused in surprise to find a child clutching his leg, and looked around to find where the boy had come from. When he saw her rising, he looked away towards Manabu-san and opened his mouth, only to close it again. It flattened into a hard line, but he lifted the boy gently and started towards her. Kyouji looked alarmed at Himura-san's expression and pushed against his chest to be let down. Kin was full of remorse for her impulsive decision, but Himura-san looked down at the little hand against his skin and his face softened. He said something to Kyouji that made the little boy relax and brought back his smile. By the time they had reached the edge of the field, Kin was there to meet them, her other charges with her.

Without actually looking at his face as he stopped in front of her, Kin bowed as far as the baby on her back would let her, and hastened into speech.

"Domo arigatō gozaimasu, Himura-san. Please let this ignorant girl apologize for her rude manner when you brought back Mugen the other day. It was a poor return for your generous help. This one can only express deep regret if she offended, and hope that you will forgive her youth and foolishness." At her last words, she raised her head slightly and tentatively glanced up to find his gaze fixed on her. She felt her face flushing, but could not look away; it seemed as though he were trying to read her very thoughts. He did not smile, but neither was his countenance quite so austere.

At that moment, Kyouji—his face scrunched up in concentration—grabbed hold of a straggling lock of red hair and pulled, looking surprised when it stayed attached. Horrified, Kin leaned forward to pull him away from the samurai, but he had not loosed his grip and all she accomplished was to cause him to yank Himura-san's hair yet again.

"Matte!" she was ordered. Mortified, she stood with eyes cast down, holding Kyouji as Himura-san untangled his hair from the grasping fingers. He was so close that she could feel his breath on her hand. She wanted to sink into the ground and die from embarrassment! At last, the hair was released and Kin set the young child down, only to have his face crumple with tears. He reached his arms back up towards the man with red hair, crying, "Shishi! Shishi!" Yume, who had been sitting quietly on the ground staring at the man, picked up the chant.

Kenshin's eyes widened in surprise. Kin, trying to hush the children and anxious at the trouble her actions had caused, hastened to explain: "Gomen nasai, Himura-san. At Setsubun, a troupe of traveling actors performed for the villages. They seem to think that you are one of the lion dancers because of your hair. We will not trouble you any longer. Please excuse us." She took each child by the hand and, bowing, began to retreat, mentally berating herself for the mess she had caused with her attempt at apologizing.

With Kyouji still wailing as he tried to turn around and look behind him as they walked, and Yume starting to sniffle too, Kin heard nothing to warn her before Himura-san appeared. He put out a hand to stop her, and then looked down at the fussy little boy and spoke firmly. "Dame." He waited silently until the child had swallowed his sobs and then squatted down in front of him. "It is not proper to cry and bother people when you do not get what you want." He and the child regarded each other for several more seconds, until he was satisfied with what he saw. Then he stood and swung Kyouji up into his arms.

"They are bringing out the midday meal," he nodded his head towards the women coming out from the houses. "Let us sit under the trees and eat." He paused, and then continued, making sure both children were listening, "But you must behave well for Kin-san, or I will leave."

Dazed at the sudden turn of events, Kin followed him to the trees with Yume in tow.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Kenshin had noticed the stares, but didn't care. People had been staring at him all his life, and he had needed that time with the children. So what if he had let the children climb on him and inspect his hair while Kin took the baby to its mother? Or if he had chased the children with growls and head-shakes to mimic the lion spirit that they had called him as Kin looked on, first with bemusement and then with laughter. For that brief time, the disjointed, not-quite-there feeling that had dragged at him all day had retreated. The relief that Kin seemed to have overcome whatever aversion she had felt towards him and that the children had welcomed him had helped him bear the rest of the day. It had been irritating when Naota reappeared after the meal acting as if nothing had happened the day before, and teasing him about his antics with Kyouji and Yume. Was the man completely oblivious to other people's moods? Did he do nothing but joke and laugh?

But they were done in the fields for the day and he could spend the evening alone without having to be civil to anyone. Tomorrow all the men would join together to work in the larger southern fields; hopefully, he would have recovered more of his equanimity by then. _I would not wish to return to my days as hitokiri, but these last few days I almost wish for that 'wall' that I built around myself. If I just knew why I feel that I must stay! Every day it hurts more to be here and see all the places where my family should be, all the things they should be doing… _

"He gets a little wearing, doesn't he?" Manabu asked after they bid Naota 'konbanwa' and watched him walk off. Kenshin released the sigh he had stifled and nodded ruefully. _Was it that obvious?_ His older friend smiled, "When we are working together, I find it best to let his words run off me as if they were the summer rain. He is still very young."

"He is a year older than I am."

"Aa," Manabu nodded as they made their way home. "But it is not just years that determines a person's maturity: the path his life takes affects his growth. Naota has been the head of his own household for many years with a mother who holds him as the center of her eyes. And now he has a wife who also seeks to fill his every wish. His life has been relatively easy." The older man looked down at Kenshin, "I do not think that the same could be said of yours."

Kenshin dipped his head to let his hair hide his eyes. _No, my life has not been easy. I cannot even imagine being so lighthearted. Manabu-san sees so much; I hope he never sees what I have been._

As they parted, Manabu once again invited Kenshin to dinner, and was once more politely refused. When Manabu had gone, Kenshin stood in the yard and looked into the trees, drawn by their shadows and silence. He was sweaty and the hair at his neck was matted, and he had had to wear his other kimono because both the hakama-shita and the kosode were dirty and smelly. He would bathe and do laundry, but he would look for a spot upstream, away from the pool used by the village.

He gathered his laundry into a basket that had been one of the items given to him, and picked up the sakabatou from where he had set it by the door. For a moment he hesitated…_Why **do** I keep taking this to the field? Do I really need to take it with me? All I am right now is a farmer. _He almost set it down, but then his grip tightened and he tucked it through his obi. _Even if it seems foolish and unnecessary, it is too much a part of me to leave behind. _Picking his basket back up, he went down the steps and through the break in the hedge to the street.

Two women were approaching—an older one and a younger—on their way to the creek. To do laundry also, judging by the basket that one of them carried. They were strangers to him, though he had seen them in the fields. If he was not mistaken, the younger one was one of the young women that had stared so at him when he first arrived. One of Kin's friends? They were near enough that he could not ignore them without being rude, so he bowed slightly and greeted them.

"Konbanwa, Himura-san," the older woman replied. "Hajimemashite. I am Motoshi-san's wife, and this is our oldest daughter, Ayu. We are honored to meet you." The daughter stood quietly, eyes lowered demurely as she was introduced, bowing when her mother did. Motoshi-san's wife opened her mouth to say something else, but made an odd noise and stopped abruptly as she realized that the basket he held contained laundry. Ayu's gaze followed her mother's and the two exchanged a shocked glance before the mother said, "Shitsurei shimasu, Himura-san. Surely you are not going to wash those yourself? It would not be fitting for one of your rank. Please, let my daughter and I do them for you: we would be glad to relieve you of such a menial task."

He hesitated, torn between his normal dislike of having someone else do his work and an unusual desire to not have to deal with any of it—neither their opinion of what he should do, nor the laundry itself. He could just go and practice with the sakabatou before bathing. Before he found an answer, Ayu had stretched out her hands for his basket, looking at him shyly and saying, "Dōzo?" in a soft voice. _If you want to do it so badly, go ahead…just take it and leave me alone. _He acquiesced, and in his surrender won a sweet smile from the young woman and an approving one from her mother, before they bowed and continued on their way, leaving him standing uncertainly in the street, uneasily aware of how close he had come to speaking his thoughts out loud.

Kenshin did not linger long though, for he was wary of meeting anyone else. He entered the trees and crossed the stream before turning north, paralleling the track worn by men going to the water-gate. He drew even with the gate and continued on. The flow was greater here, before part of the water was redirected. He remembered a large pool that had appeared once the raging waters had subsided, in a course that been changed by the torrent plunging down the mountainside. But when he arrived at the site that memory said was correct, the pool was much shallower. It was irritating, but would have to do; it was late enough that he did not have time to seek farther. As it was, bathing would have to come first with any time left used for practice, so he disrobed and waded out into the thigh-deep water, washing hastily while trying not to stir up the soft, silty bottom.

Dressed again in his kilted-up kimono, he tied back his dripping hair and retraced his steps to a clear area he had noted in passing, to practice his kata until the fading light forced him back home.

''''''''''''

When Kenshin returned to the village, the light was nearly gone. His body was weary, but the twists and turns of his sword practice had worked out the stiffness and left it feeling loose. The same could not be said of his mind: he felt like his head was full of rocks. He had not been able to reach that fluid state that was so necessary for Hiten Mitsurugi; he had had to concentrate too hard on his movements. To anyone else, it would have still appeared astonishing, but he could feel the lag between thought and movement. All he wanted to do now was water the plants that he had set in last night, and go to bed in hopes that tomorrow would be better.

He was just at the fringe of the trees when he sighted two shifting shadows at the door of his house. Adrenaline kicked in and he tensed in preparation, hand going to his sword, before the unlikelihood of enemies finding him **here** registered. He remained cautious, however, as he approached. The shadows jostled and emerged from the darkness under the eaves and he could see that it was Kanna and her younger brother, Iori.

"Konbanwa, Himura-san!" they said in unison as they bowed. Kanna's arms were full. "Okaasan asked that we bring you your clothes. May I show you?" she asked. His first inclination was to plead an excuse to allow him to escape the invasion, but he had been anxiously waiting for the clothes to be finished.

"Hai. My house is very poor, but, please, come in and be welcome." He led the way to his door and slid it back, kneeling to light the borrowed andon just inside and directing them to settle themselves by the irori while he rebuilt the fire and set some water to heat. Finally, he sat back on his heels and gave them his full attention. Iori knelt straight and silent, but Kenshin noticed his interested gaze flickering over the interior as Kanna set down her load and handed Kenshin the first item.

"Here is your kimono. Okaasan say that she hopes you do not mind that we decided to make the neck edging a little narrower and reverse the sleeves; in this way we were able to remove the frayed parts. Please forgive us for not asking you first." As he took the newly mended garment, Kenshin looked down at the even seams and remembered his efforts on the indigo kimono. They made it sound so easy…

"Here is the jinpei you requested, with two bottoms. If there is any problem with it, please let us know so that it can be fixed."

Kenshin was relieved to have it: finally, he would be able to return Manabu-san's kosode. As far as he could tell, the older man had been wearing the same thing to the fields since the loan had been made, and it bothered him to cause such inconvenience.

Kanna had her hand on the last small stack of folded fabric. "There were a lot of odd scraps left, not really big enough for anything except patches…"

"That is fine. I can use them for my sword. Or would they be of use to you and your mother?"

Kanna's cheeks turned a faint pink and she seemed a little flustered as she fingered the material. "Iie! I mean, arigatō, but no. We do not need them. I'm sorry, I did not think about the sword...I hope you will not be displeased, but I used some of the scraps to make cleaning pads." A thought seemed to occur to her: "Oh, but you probably don't clean your house, do you?" A choking noise came from her brother and her eyes widened in horror and her blush deepened. "Oh! That's not what I meant! I mean—"

"I know what you mean," Kenshin assured her, sparing a glance towards the adolescent male who sat slightly behind his sister. The young man's face was appropriately sober, but his eyes gleamed with amusement at his sister's gaffe. "As it happens, I have never had a servant, so I do clean my house. The pads will be very helpful. Arigatō." A brief, awkward silence fell, broken by the sound of steps outside.

"Himura-san! Are you home?"

Kenshin excused himself and went to his doorway, just as Ayu appeared, carrying his basket. He reached out to take it from her, offering his thanks. She surrendered it with polite disclaimers, but as she did so, her eyes went past him and widened slightly. Immediately, she bowed and began to excuse herself.

"Sumimasen, Himura-san. Ayu did not mean to intrude. I am happy to have been able to help you…" She took a step backwards, ready to turn and leave.

He was tired—and moody—and really wanted to just get the watering done. He was not up to making polite conversation, even though he was grateful for the work that had been done on his behalf. But he knew how rumors could spark and grow (How hard had it been to find the truth of any tale during his years in Kyoto?), and the startled look on Ayu's face made him cautious.

"Please, come in and join us. Kanna-san and Iori were kind enough to deliver some clothes that Kanna-san and her mother made for me." Ayu hesitated uncertainly, and Kenshin set down the basket and gestured to the door. "Please, do come in." At that, she smiled charmingly and bowed again, murmuring "Gomen kudasai…" before slipping off her sandals and entering.

The young woman nodded to the others and gracefully settled to the floor, tucking her kimono about her legs. Kenshin sat down again, only to find all three pairs of eyes fixed on him expectantly. _They are guests!_ he thought in weary disbelief._ What do they expect of me? I don't want to talk. But with Ayu-san here, and only two cups, I can't offer them tea._ He searched for something to say…

"Manabu–san told me that there were fewer people to work the fields this year. Are there many gone? The houses are all occupied…" That seemed a safe topic.

It turned out to be even more effective than he had hoped, garnering him a wealth of information about the changes that had taken place in the last few years. He learned from Ayu that her family had come from the village at the head of the valley about four years ago, in the same influx of new people that had brought in Makio and his family, as well as Shun with his wife and three boys, and that Kiyū and his wife had only arrived last year. From Iori, he learned that Seiji, Shun, and Manabu had sons gone to war, and that Shun's youngest son, Yataka, had been adopted by Tomamichi and his wife. Kanna added the information that when the young man adopted in place of the son lost the year of the Great Flood had also died of illness, Junsuke and his wife had decided the gods did not wish them to have children, and that Tatsunori's third son had died of sickness last autumn.

Kenshin listened politely, but inwardly he felt as though he were being buffeted-- both by their words and by the presence of the young people themselves, speaking so animatedly…vying for his attention. _I've seen the changes, but I have tried to ignore them. Hearing their stories, I have to admit that this is not the same place I left. And watching them…they seem so young—almost children. Even those that are left of my age seem so much younger. Manabu-san spoke the truth: my life has separated me from them._

The two young women seemed to be willing to stay indefinitely, but Iori turned their attention to the darkness outside and the need to return home with a smoothness that Kenshin envied. The two rose quickly: their bows and apologies as they left made Kenshin think of the flutterings of startled birds. Iori followed in their wake, turning once to look back, as though to ask for sympathy in his longsuffering.

Silence fell gently in their absence. Kenshin stood quietly, wrapping himself in it, soaking it in. The water-gate was open again, but he would not listen. There had been an odd undercurrent running between the two girls. It had nagged at him, but he had chosen to ignore it. Picking up the neglected laundry, he walked out into the moonlit yard. He would hang his clothes from the pole he'd fixed between two trees and water the vegetables. He would not think.

""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

**_19th day_**

_I hope I have waited long enough that most of them will be gone. I hope the hot water will do some good. I **will** remember that Naota is a friend._

Tomorrow he would be free of the village, if only for a day. Perhaps once he was in Mitō, he would not return. Noriya asking him to go with the women as they delivered the woven goods and went shopping for the village gave him a way to leave with no questions asked. The town would be busy and crowded with people celebrating O-hana-mi: he would be lost in anonymity. He could buy supplies, write his letter to Katsura, and slip away…Except he wouldn't. Even if he hadn't promised his help in the fields, there was still something holding him to the place, binding him as firmly as any chain and chafing just as much. He didn't want to stay; he was afraid of what would happen. Every day he felt more tense, more on edge; his control was slipping away…

_I will think of the relief I have felt playing with the children these last few days. I will remember Manabu's kindness. I do not want to lose them. If—_

"Oi, Kenshin! I'd given up on you!"

Kenshin raised his head to see Naota leaning forward in the tub while Nami washed his back. The lamplight caught her dreamy expression and slow strokes. He felt embarrassed at his intrusion and paused where he stood at the edge of their yard, ready to turn back. He had waited **too** long.

"Don't just stand there. Come! Come have a drink." He waved a hand towards the scattering of sake cups and bottles edging the steps to his house. Kenshin gave a quick shake of his head.

"Arigatō, no. I do not wish to inconvenience you. I am sorry to have arrived so late."

"Feh. There is no inconvenience. I'll finish my bath, and then you can take yours. We still have some water heating. Nami," he twisted to look at his wife, who blinked and blushed as she emerged from her distraction, "Pour Kenshin some sake." She rose from where she knelt and scurried to hand their guest a clean cup. Kenshin began to demure, but Naota interrupted. "Drink it. You need to relax."

Silenced by the truth of the statement, Kenshin watched the liquid fill the dish. Would it help, or just make things worse? He sipped cautiously. It was cheap and he did not much care for its flavor, but only once had that ever mattered in his drinking. Before and after Tomoe, he merely drank to numb himself; only with her had it been a thing to savor. Settling on a step that Nami had just cleared and laying the sakabatou down, he let her pour him some more, watching her brown hand as it tipped the bottle. Tomoe's hands had been slender and white and soft…He closed his eyes and drained the cup.

Naota leaned back in the tub and stretched his arms behind his head. "Today was a long day. A couple more days like that and all the fields should be cleared. Say one or two more to finish mending the walls, and we should be ready to plant. But I hear you get to do escort duty tomorrow." He reached down to the side and picked up a cup and held it out for his wife to fill. She set down the tray of cups and bottles she had cleaned up and hurried to over to him with a smile. He downed the drink in one gulp and handed her his cup. "Go on in the house. Leave Kenshin a bottle."

Kenshin frowned a little at the brusque way Naota spoke to Nami. When she set the bottle next to him as she went up the stairs, he made the effort to smile at her. He had always liked Nami—and here she was, big with child, being ordered about by his former best friend. And yet, she seemed happy. He poured himself a little more and stared into the cup.

At the sound of the door sliding shut, Naota stood up and began to dry off. He draped the towel around his hips and walked over to the small clay stove where water was heating. Adding the hot water to the tub, he stood back and gestured. "Your turn."

Kenshin rose and swallowed the sake before he slid off his kimono and carefully folded it. Naota came over and leaned against a post, watching him.

"You should take an omekake."

Kenshin froze in the act of setting down his clothes. "Oro?" Surely he hadn't heard that correctly.

"Omekake. You need one. It's ridiculous for you to live in that house alone doing all the cooking and cleaning. And you're strung so tight you're going to snap. When was the last time you were with a woman? You can't marry any of these girls--you probably wouldn't want to if you could—but they're all so fascinated by you that you could play them in the palm of your hand. Haven't you noticed? So, take one as omekake while you're here. You'll have a clean house and decent meals, and sex whenever you want. You'll feel a lot better."

Kenshin straightened slowly, feeling disgust rise from the pit of his stomach at the very thought. _How can Naota speak so casually of such a thing? These are girls that we know…that he has grown up with! _He clenched his teeth to keep back a scathing remark, but Naota could read the displeasure in his eyes and patted the air in a pacifying motion.

"Maa, maa, Kenshin. I see that I have angered you. Well, then, forget that I said anything. I was only trying to help…It's not as if it would harm anyone. In fact, it might increase the girl's offers of marriage if it was known in the area that she'd been good enough for a samurai to take interest." Naota felt the hair on his neck prickle as his friend's eyes narrowed: he could swear that he felt a physical weight push against him with that stare. But Kenshin said nothing, merely turned his back and reached for the clothes he had just set down.

"Gomen nasai. I truly did not mean to offend. I will say nothing more. I invited you, and I have been a poor host to nearly drive you away. Dōzo, Kenshin…go ahead and get in the tub." He ventured to reach out and touch the redhead's shoulder, feeling it bunch under his hand and then slowly relax. As the smaller man faced him again, Naota stepped back and bowed, one hand before him, to formally request, "Please forgive me… We **are** friends, are we not?"

"Hai. We are friends," Kenshin slowly replied.

Naota settled down on a step with a small sigh of relief, and waved Kenshin over to the tub. "You'd best get in, then, before the water cools."

Kenshin mentally shook his head at Naota's insouciant nature, and stepped into the tub. As he sank into the warmth, he reflected sadly that although he would never willingly cut the ties that bound them in friendship, the cords were beginning to fray on their own. As children, Naota had always approached life in a more brash and careless fashion than he did, but now the man's attitude no longer seemed so much daring and free as it did thoughtless.

Leaning back against the wooden slats, he closed his eyes and tried to let his mind go blank. The sake he had drunk, combined with the heat of the water, made it easier, but even though his thoughts grew distant and fuzzy, the melancholy remained. True to his word, Naota remained quiet. The only sounds were the crunch of gravel and the sharp 'thonk' of hyōshigi as the night-watch passed, and a few drowsy chirps from a tree. He had just tipped his head back to let the moonlight bathe his face, when Naota cleared his throat.

"Ano..Kenshin…there is something I need to tell you." Kenshin heard the roughness in Naota's voice, the reluctance in his words, but did not move.

"The old rumors—of you being a demon?—are being freshly spread."

The inevitable news dropped like a stone, shattering his fragile peace. He opened his pale eyes and glared at the moon.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

**20th day**

It was still dark when they gathered, though the stars were beginning to dim. Mitō was not quite three ri away around the mountain, so it was important to get an early start. Kenshin greeted Yui and Yasu quietly as they waited for the leader of the group, Keita, to come up, leading his horse. The women would have to walk, for the large baskets on either side of the animal were filled with fabric to be delivered to the han's district office.

The two men regarded each other, mildly curious. Keita lived at the other end of the village and had been working in the southern fields. They had seen each other occasionally, but never actually met.

Kenshin bowed to the older man. "Haijimemashite. I am Himura Kenshin."

"Dōzo yoroshiku. I am Keita."

Kenshin appreciated the man's apparent ease. His gaze was straightforward, and if he had heard any tales of either demon or samurai, they did not seem to concern him. Keita nodded his head towards Kenshin's sword, "We've had little trouble with robbers this last while, but it's wise to be prepared." He thumped the ground with his bo to emphasize his remark, and smiled, revealing a couple of missing side teeth. Turning, he bowed to the women and wished them a good morning. The formalities over, he declared them ready to leave.

On the pale road, the women's voices were soft as they spoke: to speak in a normal tone would have violated the early morning hush. The sky had turned a royal blue and the stars were gone--all but the few brightest—and the birds had not yet awakened. Kenshin and Keita walked side by side in silence, listening to the women's low tones behind them and the muffled 'clop' of the horse's hooves. Both seemed content to walk quietly, watching the white mist as it curled over the ground and crept up into the trees and scanning for trouble.

They reached the village at the mouth of the valley as the sun's first beams warmed their backs. The villagers were already out in the fields; there were a few women still at home, weaving and spinning, who called out a greeting. A lone man repairing a broken hoe nodded as their group went by. The high piping of little children's voices could be heard from one house. A flock of geese began scolding as the strangers passed their yard. With the day truly begun, Keita spoke:

"I hear that you were with Katsura-san in Kyōto."

Drawn from regard of the fields and buildings of their sister village, Kenshin looked at his companion. Keita strode along, using his bo as a walking stick. Kenshin noticed the unusual squareness of his jaw that even from the side gave him an air of determination. He could hear nothing in the man's tone but honest interest, but he still hesitated before answering.

"Hai. I was with the Shishi."

"I was with Fukuhara-san's group that marched for the palace gates the year of the Rat. I never got to see the city, though. We were stopped between Fushimi and Kyōto and forced to retreat. Were you in Kyōto then? You would have been very young. What did you do?"

_How strange that someone from the village should have been there, too…_ "Hai. I was there. How did you come to be there?"

"At that time, I was with one of the smaller shotai. Later, during the rebellion against the Mukunashi, I was with the Yūgekitai. It was after the rebellion that I came to the village. He came with me." Keita gave the horse an affectionate slap and it bobbed its head, as if in agreement.

Kenshin stared at him with reluctant interest. _If Shishou had been an ordinary swordmaster, would I have been like Keita-san? Could I have fought with the Kiheitai and then returned, still a peasant, to village life? He has no shadows in his eyes, feels no shame at his past…_

"It was a relief to get back to farming. The pay was good and I got to eat regularly, and I was good enough with a naginata or a rifle to stay alive even in the ambush on the road to Kyōto, but once we repelled the armies sent by the Bakufu, I decided I'd had enough adventure." He shrugged and his mouth quirked up at one corner. "I wasn't interested in going back to Kyōto again and maybe losing more than just my teeth." He grinned hugely and poked a finger into the empty space where three teeth should have been.

_The gods must guard you indeed if that is the worst that happened to you. _Kenshin watched as Keita abruptly ceased his clowning to look down at the ground for several paces. When he raised his eyes back to meet Kenshin's, his face was sober. "I've killed people. I've lost many friends… I used to dream about trying to get to them and not being able to fast enough. I still do, once in a while."

Kenshin nodded his understanding._ So you do have ghosts. It seems that yours are kinder than mine: I hear only sorrow in your voice, no guilt or fear. Be grateful._

Their road led south now. Not as heavily traveled as the road from Hagi to Yamaguchi through Asahi, it still was a busy road, running from Hagi through Mitō to either Yamaguchi or Mine, or Ube on the coast. As they joined the other peasants taking their goods to market and merchants who hoped to sell their wares to the extra crowds drawn by O-hana-mi, Keita turned again to Kenshin:

"But you…you said you were in Kyōto then. What could someone so young do?"

Kenshin did not speak often of his battles, but this man had felt the breath of death down his neck; he had seen friends fall, and felt the shock and the power of taking life. He knew the reality. "I fought. I was in the group under Colonel Kijima."

Keita's eyes widened and he looked carefully at Kenshin's face. "I heard that his group made it past the Hamaguri Gate and then got caught between Satsuma and Aizu. That they faced cannon and rifles and not many survived to retreat. How old were you?"

"Sixteen. And yes, it was very bad." He thought of killing as many riflemen as possible to give the swordsmen a chance to survive the retreat. Of having to withdraw over the bodies of the fallen, both friend and foe. Of thinking of Tomoe waiting for him, and hoping that he would live to see her again. "Kijima-san died. And Katsura-sensei's heir. And most of the men I lived with at the Kohagi-ya. Then we had to live through the fires afterwards." _But Tomoe and I went to Otsu, and made a home, and I had hope until—_

"Have you been in Kyōto this whole time? Fighting?" the older man asked incredulously. "How could you bear it?"

"I followed Katsura-sensei. We meant to change the world so that everyone could live a good life, without fear. To do that, we had to fight." _How long will it take, Katsura-sensei? When will we see the changes? When will I stop dreaming of bodies and of the sound of a blade entering flesh?_ He sought for a way to turn the conversation away from himself. "Those of us in the capital were concerned when we heard about the conflicts here. Katsura-sensei was greatly relieved to know that Takasugi-san was making sure that there was a government that supported us, and that he had such great success later, when the Bakufu sent armies against you."

"Takasugi-san! I don't think that man feared anything! He had us attack the government offices in Shimonosēki. We carried off all the ammunition we could find…and **then **he convinced the merchants there to give him money**."**

"You were with Takasugi-san?" Kenshin had been saddened to learn of his death last year. The man's belief in their mission had spurred everyone on: listening to him and Katsura-sensei talk, the dream seemed so real that anything was worth sacrificing to achieve it.

"Hai. The Yūgekitei often joined with his group."

Keita filled the remainder of their journey with his reminiscences of the times he had seen Takasugi and the battles he'd fought and the friends he missed. Kenshin listened wistfully, wishing that he could be so objective about all that had happened to him. The women behind paused occasionally in their conversation to listen, but—uninterested in the man's world of weapons and fighting—soon went back to their own much more intriguing discussion of children and household management.

'''''''''''''''''''

As the road began to slope down, the town was spread out before them. The sakura were in full bloom here on the open side of the mountain. Mitō was not very big, but it was the biggest town in the area; all the villages 'round about made the trip to Mitō to visit the shrines and register at the temple and buy those things they could not produce. People enroute to larger cities broke their journey at its inns and teahouses. Today the town was crowded with those who had come to enjoy O-hana-mi.

_It seems so much smaller than I remember! But then, I was only here two or three times to go to the temple, and I was little. It seemed so big, and I was scared when everyone stared. But there were such wonderful things! Food, and puppets and toys…toys…Otōsan bought me a top for Shichi-go-san.--The top!...burnt…with Tomoe._

They had to leave the main street when they reached the town: the district and han offices filled a block of their own, behind the inns and eating establishments that lined the thoroughfare. Next to the gate stood both guards and a kosatsu. Kenshin and his companions paused to read the postings. He felt a flutter of excitement as he read: "An Oath of Five Articles read at Kyoto on the 13th day of the 3rd month in the presence of the Emperor. 'By this oath, we set up as our aim—'"

"Himura-san. Please would you read it to us? I do not recognize all the letters, and the women can only read women's writing."

Beginning again, he read the announcement aloud, feeling the exhilaration surge as he read each article: "First: Deliberative assemblies shall be widely established and all matters decided by open discussion. Second: All classes, high and low, shall be united in vigorously carrying out the administration of affairs of state. Third: The common people, no less than the civil and military officials, shall be allowed to pursue their own calling so that there may be no discontent. Fourth: Evil customs of the past shall be broken off and everything based upon the just laws of Nature. Fifth: Knowledge shall be sought throughout the world so as to strengthen the foundation of imperial rule."

As he finished, the others exclaimed and began to comment, but Kenshin did not hear them. He stared at the board, hearing an echo of statements made by Sakamoto-san during one of the meetings with Saigo-san and Katsura-sensei. Sakamoto-san might be dead, but his ideas lived on. Who had written these?

What great changes would be wrought! It was beginning…

A tug at his sleeve broke his reverie. He turned to find Yasu-baasama smiling at him tolerantly. He bowed slightly, embarrassed, and apologized for ignoring them. The older woman merely chuckled and replied, "Himura-san. We will be busy here for a while, but it is not necessary that you stay with us. If you have other things that you need to do, it would be good to do them now. Then you can help us later at the market."

He agreed and the time and place for meeting was set. Keita led the horse through the gate and Yasu and Yui followed after bowing to Kenshin. Once they disappeared inside, he made his way to the temple whose high, tiled roof he could see from where he stood. He slipped through the crowds that had been attracted to the temple precincts both by the numerous booths and performers and by the rows of cherry trees lining the river that flowed just outside. He was aware of the silenced conversations that trailed behind him as he passed. It was a relief to finally enter the shadowed, fragrant peace of the main hall. He stood, eyes closed, feeling the tatami smooth and cool underfoot, and then knelt and bowed humbly before the serene Buddha whose hand was lifted in blessing. _Oh, Buddha, if you hear me, please grant me understanding of what I must do here. If that is not possible, please help me endure the wait until it becomes clear. _He looked up at the placid face with its secret smile; slowly rising, he left the hall, dropping a few coins in the box on his way out.

'''''''''''''

Now he sat with his back against the blank white plaster of someone's garden wall. Somewhere within must be a cherry tree, for each wisp of breeze making its way over the wall brought with it a thin scattering of pinks petals. It had been a challenge to find an uncrowded spot in which to write: he finally found his way to the relative quiet of the samurai houses with their high walls shuttering the streets.

As he opened the bamboo tube that held the ingenious traveler's writing set that he had purchased (complete with several sheets of good quality paper curled up inside), he felt a pang of inadequacy. Shishō had tried to refine and build on the basic writing skills that his father had taught him: had tried to get him to appreciate the beauty of finely-shaped letters and perfectly put-together words and find the joy in creating them himself. He had succeeded, as far as the appreciation went: the young Kenshin could admire Shishō's work with all the right words (and mean them) and he found pleasure in reading (for brief periods). But neither his handwriting nor his composition had ever gone beyond adequate. Once he left Shishō, there was no need. He never had to send a message by anything other than word-of-mouth. And he had fully expected to die soon; what did it matter if he could write well? It had only been in the last year or two--when he spent so much time with Katsura-sensei--that he had started to feel the lack. Katsura, who never seemed to see him as just an assassin, or just a bodyguard. Katsura, who seemed to have remembered every word that he had said those first days as they made their way to Kyōto. Often, at the gatherings in the teahouses, Katsura had tried to draw him into the calligraphy contests, the poetry writing, as though he were something more than he was. He had always refused.

Now, looking at the paper dappled pink with sakura petals, he impulsively picked up his brush and quickly—before he could reason himself out of it—composed a haiku as tribute to Katsura, who had seen him as human when **he** did not:

Petals on paper

Black brush strokes falling there too

Distance grows greater

Kenshin winced as he looked at it, tempted to tear it up; he hoped Katsura would understand. He wished that he could speak to Katsura and have him explain.

He had been so thrilled to read the Oath, had felt that it was the first sign that his sacrifices had been worthwhile. But in the hour or so that had elapsed, that optimism had already received several blows. The first had been at the rice dealer's. He had intended to buy another sho or two of rice, only to discover that the price had risen so high that he was not willing to spend so much. How could the poorer people afford to eat? Even barley's price had risen higher than he had ever seen it. Everyone would soon be eating millet, it seemed.

The second blow had fallen as he cut through the market to reach the store where he could buy netting. Two han officials passed him, deep in conversation. The phrase he caught was: "…peasants are like rape seed: the more you squeeze them, the more oil you get out of them." How could everyone live happily if even those in authority had such opinions? Who would make sure that the Articles were followed?

Last of all, after he was already confused and distressed and looking for a quiet place to set his things down and think and write, he passed a stand selling nishiki-e and small, cheaply bound block-printed books. The books lured him over, but once there what caught his eye was a sheet titled Koko Shinbun. The owner noticed his gaze and told him, "That is a 'newspaper.' It came from Edo, where they have just started printing it." Kenshin scanned the words printed on the 'newspaper,' and was horrified to find that one of the items on it was a denunciation of the new government. The author felt that it was Chōshū and Satsuma in power, rather than the Emperor. He set it back down with a hand that trembled slightly. After all he had done to get rid of the corrupt Bakufu, it was already being said that the new government was thinking only of itself and not of the people?

He looked down at his writing paper again. What should he say to Katsura-sensei? In the end, he asked nothing, expressed no opinions, but merely reported what he had seen and heard, just as he always had.

"To the most Honorable Katsura-sensei:

This Kenshin thanks you again for your most excellent advice and generous gifts that have eased his passage. He writes this letter to report on what he has seen so far in his travels, in hopes that the information may be of use. Currently, this one is in Choushuu, near Mitō, having taken a middle road through the provinces. This one has found that feeling is still very strong against gaikokujin, which has caused distress, anger, and confusion at the recent news of the Son of Heaven's audience with their representatives and his decision to continue the treaties…"

By the time he had finished, the temple bell was tolling. He hurriedly folded the paper and sealed it. He would have to make time to send it off before they left town.

In his letter, he had mentioned that he would not travel on for several weeks; deep inside, he hoped that perhaps Katsura would sense his unease and offer the reassurance of a reply.

''''''''''

He rejoined the others at the bridge. The horse had been left behind; he and Keita would serve as temporary beasts of burden for the village's purchases. Keita paired with Yui as they split up, while Kenshin waited for Baba-sama to tell him where they were going. As they moved in the direction she had pointed, she fell a few steps behind. Kenshin paused for her to catch up, but the older woman stopped, too.

"What are you doing? I do not know exactly where you want to go; you must walk with me." Yasu shook her head at his words.

"Himura-san. I am a peasant, and with your hakama and sword it is obvious that you are samurai. It is not fitting that we walk together as equals: many around us would be offended. Just go straight. You will see the salt seller's stand on your left. He always sets up in the same place." Reluctantly, Kenshin turned his back and continued on, listening for the clack of her geta behind him.

Once they reached the booth, Kenshin stood aside and watched as she bargained. It made him uncomfortable; Shishō had not haggled. When he found something he wanted (the best of whatever it was, of course), he just paid for it. His calligraphy was so sought after that he could afford it. For himself, there had been occasions when money was tight enough that he would suggest a lower price that was often accepted, but he did not assert himself. He was astonished at how forcefully Baba-sama pushed for the price she wanted.

Taking hold of the cask of salt that she had just acquired, he moved out of the main flow of humanity and perplexedly inquired, "Why did you pay him so little? I know that you must be careful, but doesn't he face the same problems that you do? What if he does not make enough to provide for his family?"

Yasu glanced at him in surprise, about to speak. But she closed her mouth and looked at him consideringly. Finally, she nodded her head. "I remember…you never came to market when you were young, did you? Your parents kept you close at home to keep you safe. If you had come—like the other children—you would've learned long ago: it's a game! Before we ever begin to barter, he knows exactly how low he can go; I know exactly how high I can go. We meet in the middle, where we can both be satisfied: the game is in how we get there. We understand each other. Sometimes, a samurai will be displeased at the price and either demand that it be sold at the price he wants, or even just walk off with the merchandise. Then, the seller will lose money. But there are many samurai who are too proud to question the price, and he will make good money off of them. It balances out. But you, with your tender heart…how much did you pay for that netting and those mats?" As Kenshin named the amount, she shook her head and clucked, "Too much, too much. Himura-san, you need to learn how to play the game. You are not so rich that you can afford to give money away. Watch me carefully when we buy the oil. Now, go this way."

Once again he led the way through the crowd, steered by the directions she gave. Again, he watched as she argued, discomfited when she would check to make sure that he was paying attention. But when they went on to yet another booth, and she pressed him to perform the negotiations, Kenshin dug in his heels and refused. Yasu sighed, but gave up gracefully, remarking only that there would be another opportunity…

They rejoined Keita and Yui back at the bridge. Yui was finishing the last bite of some hanakaida with one hand, while holding a fair-sized box of food with the other. "Let's find a place under one of the trees and eat." Yasu discreetly pushed Kenshin back to the front while they fell behind as though they were his servants. As they lowered their burdens and sat down on the blossom-strewn ground, Yui served him the first portion and then went to sit with the others. The three had left a space between Kenshin and them; he regarded it resentfully as he ate the soba and tofu with little appetite. When they were done, they would return to pick up the horse with his new load of cotton and the fabric that they had been allowed to keep, add their purchases to his packs, and return home. Kenshin abruptly stood up.

"Thank you for the meal. I have one more errand to attend to. I will meet you at the han office." Turning, he quickly vanished into the shifting scene, leaving his friends to stare, dumbfounded at his abrupt departure. He would post his letter to Katsura and be done with this town. He had had enough.


	9. Chapter 9 Shades and Shadows, Pt 3

**Disclaimer: **Kenshin and Hiko are Watsuki's creations and owned by huge corporations. Katsura and other shotai leaders are historical figures. Everybody else is mine. I write for mental exercise, creative development, and because I like reviews, not for profit.

**Author's explanation:** After consulting with friends, I have decided to post this now, even though there's another section to be worked on-- partly because I'm going to have much less writing time the next 2-3 weeks, but also to try an experiment. I am going to try to shorten my postings somewhat. But then, perhaps I'll post more often. I have been viewing my chapters as sort of complete stories in themselves—it worked well when Kenshin was going to different towns, but has gotten unwieldy as he stays in one spot. I think that I will give titles to the chapters that begin a certain concept, but the chapters that fall within that concept will just be numbered. Does that make sense? Give it a try for the next few chapters and then tell me what you think.

**Vocabulary (**of course)

sakura—cherry blossoms

hashi—chopsticks

nani—what

hana-mi; O-hana-mi—celebration of cherry blossoms

O-taue—ceremony/celebration of planting the first rice

hour of the dragon—two hour period beginning roughly 9:30 or 10 a.m.

tachido—young men whose part in O-taue is to hand the sacred seedlings to the saotome

saotome—young women whose part in O-taue is to plant the seedlings (song is involved)

dōzo—please

demo--but

Ojisan--Uncle

ah, sō desu ne—Is that so? Is that right? So, that's how it is…(you get the idea)

Daijobu? Daijobu ka?—Are you all right? or Is everything all right?

Kuiaratame—repentance/ the name Kenshin gave the sakabatou

ofuda—a charm or ward (usually a portion of the Buddhist scriptures) (for those that watch Inuyasha, this is what Miroku is always plastering on things

Namu Amida Butsu—one of the names of Buddha. The Pure Land sect believed that constantly chanting it could help you obtain nirvana faster or protect you (those of you who know more than I, correct me if I'm wrong)

Last, but not least: **Who are these people?**—

Shinsaku and Mineko: Kenshin's dad and mom

Kiyouji--one of the children that Kenshin has been playing with

Seiji-san is head of a family that includes four sons: Daigo (married to Nonoe), Chūgo (married to Sakura), Teppei (15-16), and Tenchi (8), as well as two daughters: Kako (married to Atsuo) and Hisa (4). Their family has disliked Kenshin's family for about 4 generations.

Chūgo, Teppei, Ichita, and Ichita's youngest brother (who has been adopted by Tomamichi) Yataka are the four guys that discussed Kenshin two chapters ago. Everyone confused? Right! Here we go….

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

**Shades and Shadows, Pt. 3 **by older woman

**21st day, 3rd month**

Ichita arrived at the banya just at daybreak, bidding good morning to Ushio and Rishou as they stretched and yawned and unfolded themselves from where they sat on the steps, waiting to be relieved. Himura-san had not yet appeared, so he sat down on the step still warm from the others to wait for his day's partner.

He was glad to have been paired with Himura-san for the day. From the day his family had moved to this village, he had heard stories—village history-- that caught his interest. In the last few weeks, he had discovered that nearly all of those tales seemed to be connected one way or another to Himura-san.

The current whispered story, quickly hushed, was that Himura-san was biding his time before unleashing his wrath in revenge for being sold. Ichita had even heard a tale that he was a demon. He'd laughed at that, and the fear of Himura-san's wrath, at first. The man was younger than he was, and small! If it weren't for that jarring combination of hair and eyes, it would be easy to ignore him as no more than a weak young 'pretty boy.'…But he had those scars that Teppei had mentioned and he had kept pace with them all in the field, even though he was no longer accustomed to the work. No…he wasn't weak. There was the sword, too, that he always kept close by. And why else would he return to the place that had sold him into slavery?

Still, Ichita couldn't quite bring himself to believe that the younger man would harm anyone; just the other day when he'd crossed to the northern fields to take a message to Manabu-san, he had seen Himura-san with the littlest village children crawling all over him. He seemed so careless of the dignity that other samurai guarded so zealously! Perhaps if he spent some time with Himura-san, he could decide for himself if the village really had anything to fear.

Most of the people were out in the fields by now; where **was** Himura-san? He scanned the fields and street: not there. He had not seen him enter one of the privies…

A shadow fell over him and he turned in apprehension: he had heard nothing! Someone stood at the corner of the banya, backlit by the early sun. It was only by the reddish sheen at the crown of the head that he could tell that it was Himura-san. Where had he come from?

"Ohayou gozaimasu, Himura-san!" Ichita shaded his eyes as he spoke; he could still barely see. If it had been any one of the other young men, he would have made a comment on the late arrival, but unsettled by Himura-san's sudden appearance, he said nothing else. There was no response. Ichita lifted his bundle and held it out towards the shadowy figure.

"I am Ichita, Shun's oldest son. Have you eaten? I have enough fish and barley for both of us, if you would like some. And I have some ginger tea."

Finally, Himura-san moved, coming over and sitting down at the other end of the steps, laying the ever-present sword across his lap. The sword was incongruous: in a jinpei—without the added bulk of his kimono and hakama—he looked like a peasant boy of about fifteen. Except for that incredible coloring. He did not look at Ichita—rather, he stared down at the fields below them where the whole village was working.

"Hajimemashite. Arigatō, no. I am sorry to be late." His voice was low and slightly hoarse. Ichita's gaze was drawn to his hand, restlessly fingering the sword.

"I thought that perhaps you were still asleep. Going straight back to work after making the trip to Mitō is enough to wear anyone out."

"Iie." It seemed as though Himura-san would say no more, but after a pause he added, "I was up the mountain." Ichita wanted to ask why, but there was something in Himura-san's tone that warned him not to pursue the topic. Rishou had mentioned that Himura-san was not very talkative, but had said nothing of him being anti-social. The few glimpses he'd had of the samurai around others had not given any indication of it…especially not that day when he was playing with the children. But now, Ichita got the definite impression that Himura-san would rather be anywhere other than where he was.

"With everyone working on that last field, we ought to be able to finish today. The work has gone very well." Looking over at his silent companion, he was struck by the man's stillness, marred only by the nervous movement of that one hand rubbing against the black metal of the saya.

"Hai."

Well, at least Himura-san had acknowledged his statement. It was going to be a long day, if there was to be no conversation. If the younger man just didn't want to talk, he would be perfectly willing to fill the silence….but it appeared that he didn't want to be talked **to**, either: he still had not even looked at Ichita. With a mental shrug, Ichita set his packet down on the step next to him and opened it up. One more try…

"Please forgive me for eating in front of you. If you change your mind, feel free to take some." He gave the cloth a slight push in Himura-san's direction.

"Iie!" came the sharp response. The red head dipped, and angled slightly towards him. "Arigatō, no," he amended in a softer voice. "Truly, I am not hungry."

''''''''''''

Ichita was relieved when Sakura brought the midday meal. All morning, Himura-san had seemed glued to the step, immoveable except for an occasional turn of the head as he scanned the surroundings. Even the hand had stilled. But Ichita had found it impossible to sit there for long: when he tried, his skin began to crawl and prickle as though lightning had struck nearby. It was unnerving. What was causing it? Himura-san seemed unaffected, but Ichita had had to retreat inside the doorway. He came out now to receive his portion, pleased to see a smiling face and have someone to talk to, even if only briefly.

He and Chugo's wife stood in front of the steps, surveying the progress of the morning and speaking of the plan for all to meet under the sakura to eat the evening meal while enjoying their beauty. Ichita idly noticed O-Ine-san making her slow way out onto her engawa, surrounded by the children she was watching. Ichita turned back to Himura-san; perhaps he would be more talkative now, with some rice in his belly.

"It's good to have rice, ne? I'll be sorry when we're done with planting and it's back to eating barley for every meal."

His friend's wife smiled at his words and nodded in agreement, but chided him gently, "We should not complain. We're fortunate that Noriya-san and the others decided that we had enough. There have been plenty of years when we didn't."

"Hai, hai." Ichita rubbed his neck. "It looks like we'll start planting right away. Manabu-san said when Noriya-san saw how well things were going, they determined that the next favorable day to start would be the day after tomorrow. Keita-san went to the shrine yesterday and made arrangements with the priest." He looked again at the man who was slowly finishing his rice.

Himura-san had not looked up at all: perhaps he hadn't realized that he'd been spoken to? "Himura-san, I hear you got to eat under sakura yesterday in Mitō. But this evening the village will have its own hana-mi; perhaps you will find that you like it better than the other!"

The samurai carefully rinsed his hashi with water and rewrapped them in their cloth before tucking them back into his sash. Sakura and Ichita traded perplexed glances: was he intentionally being rude and ignoring them? But Himura-san inhaled slowly and finally looked up. There were shadows under his eyes and the skin at the corners looked tight, but his raspy tone was even.

"Perhaps I would." He held the bowl out to Sakura, bowing slightly where he sat. "Arigatō gozaimasu. Your efforts in preparing the meal and bringing it to us are much appreciated."

The young woman smiled and denied any effort, bowing awkwardly over her gravid belly. She took Ichita's bowl and began to make her careful way down the path. Ichita called his thanks after her and started to walk to the side of the banya to relieve himself, only to be stopped in his tracks by a bitten-off exclamation from Himura-san. He whirled at the sound, to find his fellow guard standing rigid, katana gripped tightly, staring down at the village. Ichita hastily scanned the scene below him, but could see nothing amiss. Everyone was back in the field. Sakura-san was treading carefully down the path. Tomamichi-san was coming out of the privy. O-Ine-san sat with the children gathered around her, obviously telling a story. All was as it should be…

"Nani?! What did you see?" he cried. At his words, Himura-san snapped his head around to stare at Ichita. He seemed to will himself to relax and let his arms hang at his sides, loosening the white-knuckled grip on his sword. As Ichita watched, his face lost all expression, wiped clean of any emotion.

"Nothing. It is nothing," he replied in a flat voice. "I was mistaken."

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Slipping through the blackness beneath the trees, Kenshin retreated back up the mountain. When he left the banya, he had taken the path through the orchard; it would've appeared to Ichita-san as though he were going home by way of the creek. He was covering his tracks, as he had so often in Kyōto. He wanted to put distance between himself and Ichita-san, whose curiosity had rubbed against his fretfulness all day. He wanted to be away from the curious eyes, the speculative eyes, the fearful or sympathetic eyes that would all be watching if he appeared at the hana-mi.

The waning moon was still bright in the sky, but only reached under the trees in fitful patches that tricked the eye. In those spots that glowed and dimmed, he saw the hungry eyes of his dead. He could feel them all around: behind the trees, in the branches, creeping at his feet. His breathing grew labored as the constriction in his chest tightened, but he welcomed it. It was all familiar: it was his usual dreams come to life. So much easier to bear than the increasing emptiness of the house…the phantom whispers in the corners that he caught himself straining to understand… the dreams--unremembered after the first—that woke him, crying. His family might have abandoned him, but his victims were always there, ready and eager to spend the night with him.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

**23rd da**y

Kenshin had slept very little in three nights and a day of roaming the mountain. His eyes ached and he was having trouble concentrating: making his way through the forest with nothing but starshine and an occasional match for light had been necessary but not too wise. Now he stood at his door like a wild thing, skin twitching with hesitancy at the thought of entering. He needed to go in and start a fire and eat something. There was something he needed to do. Something he needed to get ready for…

He slid open the door and stepped in, immediately aware of the gaping emptiness waiting to swallow him. He knelt and lit the andon; it helped, a little. Moving over to the irori, he built a small fire. The bright flames hurt his eyes, but their formless patterns trapped his tired gaze and lulled his mind…

A sharp 'crack!' and the quick sting of a shower of sparks on his leg pulled him abruptly back from the daze he had fallen into. Feeling as though he were standing somewhere else looking on, he drew a pot of water from the bucket and set it to heat. _First tea, then…then…_He closed his eyes and rubbed them. _Why is it so hard to think?_ He was tired, but through the fatigue that sucked at him, beneath the haze of incomplete thoughts, was the dim awareness that something was** wrong**. _I need to be ready for…for…O-taue? _That did not seem exactly right, but he did remember now that today was the day the priest would come. Planting would begin today. He needed to be there; it would be noticed if he were not.

He ran his hands through his hair in frustration, suddenly realizing that at some point he had lost his hair tie. He picked out several twigs. '_…need a bath, Shinta-kun…' _Kenshin's hand stilled mid-way to throwing them into the fire.

"Okāsan?" he whispered. Silence answered him. He dropped his hand into his lap._ Wishful thinking…I am alone. Alone**. …**need to be ready…_

He took a rag and one of his buckets of water out onto the engawa. He stripped out of his dirty clothes and, standing in the light from the doorway, slowly began to wash himself. As he scrubbed his face, he felt the roughness that meant he needed to shave again. Sighing, he went back inside to get his tanto and carefully scrape the patches smooth with a hand that shook with a fine tremor. Then, scrub the hair; rinse off with the rest of the bucket; dry off. All was performed mechanically, without thought: he was listening…

But there was nothing more than the rattle of the pan that had nearly boiled dry over the fire. He rescued the pan and added a little more water, pouring the result into his cup and stirring in some tea. He took the cup and wandered out to sink down on the steps, leaning his head back against a post. The crescent moon was low in the east and all the houses were dark. A cat appeared near Shun-san's house and slunk across the street, carrying something in its mouth. It was several hours before daybreak, and the priest would not arrive until at least the hour of the dragon. At the present hour, the village looked desolate, odd shadows creating the illusion of missing boards and ruined walls. _All gone…_

His stomach growled. _I need to eat…need to be ready…_He rose and went back into the house, mildly disturbed to find that he still needed to dress.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Manabu ran a hand over his wet hair to make sure that it was laying flat. Honomi would be interested in the news that Sakura-san had gone into labor around daybreak. It looked to be a good day: a new birth, a new planting… It was nearing the hour of the dragon; the priest should be here soon. The temporary altar had been set up in the midst of the fields. Rishou was off with the other tachido, getting the baskets of seedlings ready.

Thinking of his son led his thoughts to Kenshin. He had not seen him since they left the field together three days ago. The boy had looked so worn and edgy that he'd needed a day to rest; hopefully, he'd spent yesterday sleeping.

There was a scuffle of noise at the other end of the street, and then Norikazu could be seen running along the houses, shouting. Manabu assumed that he was spreading the word that the priest had been seen. Honomi would hear Norikazu soon enough; he would check to make sure that Kenshin was awake.

Crossing the street, he entered the yard. There was a tea cup sitting at the top of the steps. When he got closer, he could see that there was also an overturned bucket and a pile of damp clothes sitting in a heap at the edge of the engawa. Frowning with concern, Manabu picked up the cup; none of Mineko's children would be so careless. Perhaps the boy had not been tired, but falling ill…

He could see now that the door was open, and hastened towards it. After the brightness of the morning, he had to pause as his eyes adjusted to the interior. It seemed at first that the house was empty, but as he turned to leave to check the garden, he noticed a still figure seated in the corner where the contrast of light and shadow was greatest. In his dark green kimono and grey hakama, Kenshin was no more than one of the shadows.

Setting down the cup and striding over, Manabu squatted down in front of the young man and reached out to grasp his shoulder. "Kenshin! Are you all right?"

Hands clenched around the sword they held and then relaxed. Kenshin raised his head and Manabu snatched his hand away as he gasped. The eyes that met his were **red**! His instinctive reaction was to run, but as he gathered himself, Kenshin made no further move. Though it gave him chills to gaze into those eyes, Manabu forced himself to look more closely. The whites around the pale eyes were so bloodshot that even the irises seemed to have a pink tinge, and the rims were red and swollen and beginning to weep. This was no threat; Shinsaku's son looked exhausted.

"Kenshin, what is wrong?" He reached out again to give the young man's shoulder a little shake: his eyes had taken on a slightly unfocused look. Instantly, Kenshin's attention returned to Manabu, and he began to rise.

"Manabu-san. I …am ready." The katana slid into the obi with practiced grace, but as Manabu also rose, he saw that Kenshin's hands shook. The boy should not go out; he needed to stay and sleep.

"Kenshin. You do not need to be there for O-taue. Stay here and rest. You are dead on your feet."

For a moment, Kenshin stared at him, an arrested expression on his face, and then he began to silently laugh. "Dead! **I'm **not dead!" The desire to flee surged again, but Manabu quelled it. The boy needed help.

He spoke to him soothingly, "No, you're not. But you **are** tired. Stay and rest. Then you'll be able to help plant later."

Kenshin rubbed his eyes and pressed a hand, hard, to his forehead, standing quietly for a moment. Manabu imagined that he could almost see the young man gathering his remaining energy. When he dropped his hand and spoke, his hoarse voice was calm and reasonable. "I… **do** need to be there. If I'm not, O-Ine-san will probably say that I could not bear the presence of the priest."

Manabu wanted to deny it, but couldn't. He'd heard the old stories being recirculated. Obviously, the boy had heard them, too. Still, it was not wise for him to push himself so hard. "Himura-san-"

"Iie." Kenshin's jaw set. "If I am not there, people will listen. She will win." His mouth quirked up in a weary half-smile. "Himura-san? You called me Kenshin earlier, didn't you?"

Chagrined, Manabu said, "In my concern, this one neglected to behave well, please forgive-" He began to bow, but Kenshin put out a hand to stop him.

"I think I prefer the concern. Dōzo… continue to call me Kenshin."

The older man nodded once in acknowledgement and sighed in defeat. "I do not agree with your decision, but I understand. Demo…if you insist on going out, keep your head down: your eyes are so red that almost anyone would believe the demon tale. Stay near me and we will keep to the edges."

"Ah, sō desu ne?" Kenshin paused to consider, closing his eyes and unconsciously rubbing at his temple. '**…**_don't...' _seemed to whisper in his ear, but he knew it was his imagination."I still feel that I should go, Ojisan."

Saddened, Manabu wondered if Kenshin was even aware of what name he had used. Hearing it, and seeing the young man standing so worn before him, it was as though time had reversed itself and Shinta stood before him, haggard with the strain of grief and accusation. Burdened with his own pain, he had been able to do so little then; could he help more now?

"Then let's go get my wife and see if everyone has started to gather." As they went out, Kenshin uttered an exclamation of embarrassment to find the mess outside his door. He hastily picked up the bucket and set it inside and scooped up the clothes to spread on the hedge to dry. Manabu looked on with a feeling of nostalgia: Kenshin took after his mother in more than just his size…

''''''''''''''''''

Truthfully, it felt good to do nothing more than stand obediently with his eyes closed, head down like an old horse. He could feel the comforting warmth of Manabu-san and his wife nearby. The older man's unexpected appearance in his house and the forceful push of Manabu-san's anxiety had helped him focus his thoughts for a while, but he could tell that already his concentration was crumbling. . _…need to be ready!_ He frowned down at the ground, recognizing the litany as one of the few things he remembered from last night. Urgency vibrated through him and his body tensed for battle while he vainly tried to marshal his fragmenting thoughts to remember why.

If he looked up from under his curtain of hair, he could see Noriya-san talking to the priest at the edge of the field. All the young men—there were only six for tachido—stood near them, waiting. Several other men were there, too, holding flutes and drums. Seiji-san held a samisen. When he turned to speak to the man next to him, he caught sight of Kenshin and his eyes narrowed. His companion turned as well, and Kenshin saw that it was Daigo-san, Seiji-san's eldest son. The animosity in their gaze struck him like a blow. …_need to be ready_….He shifted position, but could still feel the antagonism scraping at him. He closed his eyes again, only to become aware of hostility appearing on another side. _…need to be ready…this!...Ready for this! _Even as a child, before Shishō had taught him to read ki, he had been able to tell who liked him from who did not, no matter how they acted. But now…now! The gathering grew, and he was vaguely aware of the ceremony beginning, of the priest invoking the blessing merging into the girls in the red and white of saotome planting the seedlings given to them by the tachido, of singing and feelings of pleasure and hope creating a faint counterpoint to the pain he felt as he was beset by the rancor and doubt and fear buffeting him from so many sides. He could not focus his will well enough to block it all. Only one thought held fast in the maelstrom of emotions: O-Ine-san had done this. _I will not let her win!_ He grit his teeth and braced his feet, hanging on to the tattered shreds of his control.

'''''''''''''''''''

O-taue had gone well. Manabu watched his daughter speaking to her friend Emiko who had been saotome for the first time this year. Next year, Naeko would take part. He shook his head; how had she grown so fast? He idly rubbed at his arm again and adjusted the collar of his kimono. He had been restless during the whole ceremony, plagued by a sense of pressure on his skin. Honomi had given him a stern look as he kept fidgeting, but he'd noticed that she'd been shifting her weight from foot to foot as though she was uncomfortable, too. It was a warm morning. He looked down at his wife; she looked too young to have an eleven-year old daughter, let alone a twenty-year old child.

At that thought, he turned to check on the other twenty-year old. He was surprised to find Kenshin several feet behind them. Manabu chided himself for having moved away after promising to watch over the boy. And yet, he hadn't been aware of moving. Fortunately, his efforts did not seem to have been needed—in fact, there was no one close to Kenshin. He frowned at that, looking around for Kenshin's other friends. Yasu-san and her family were leading the priest to their house to feed him before he left; Hiro was busy with his family…He began walking towards Kenshin, Honomi right behind, while he still searched for Naota. He spotted him standing with Nami under a tree. She was leaning against him, and Manabu was struck by how big she looked. Surely she shouldn't be so large at this stage of the pregnancy?

That impression was forgotten in the agitation he felt as he approached Kenshin. What was wrong? At first glance, he could see nothing to explain his apprehension. When he was close to the young man, though, he could see that Kenshin was not calm, as he had appeared from a distance. Though his eyes were still closed, his head was up and he was breathing fast, and the muscles in his arms were twitching like those of someone who had pushed themselves beyond their strength. Honomi moved past and laid a soft hand on the quivering skin, speaking gently to Kenshin as to a child. Slowly, the breathing calmed and the muscles relaxed; the red head drooped. Manabu felt himself relax, as well. He looked around to make sure that no one was watching them.

"Daijobu ka?" his wife asked. Kenshin's eyes opened and she endured his red, glazed stare bravely until she could finally tell that he saw her. "Daijobu?" she repeated. His brow furrowed with the effort to think, but finally he replied, "Aa."

Manabu murmured, "Close your eyes; Kiyū-san's coming this way," and he and Honomi shifted to partially block Kenshin from view. Kiyū and his wife passed by with a greeting, not even noticing the small man. But their little boy skittered away to his mother's other side and kept a terrified watch on Kenshin until they were safely past. From behind Manabu came an aching whisper, "Kiyouji…"

'''''''''''''''

He was not at all happy that Kenshin was there. The warm day had given way to an even warmer afternoon. Noriya had been driving them hard the last week or so: the weather had been so warm that the seedlings were growing faster than expected. The only reason they had been able to rest the other day was because they had to wait for the priest before they could start planting. Well, the priest had come and gone, the ceremony of O-taue had been performed, and here they were, back in the field without any more rest than time to eat and change their clothes.

Manabu straightened briefly, retying the band around his head. It was already soaked with sweat. He looked again at Kenshin, a row up and just to his left. The boy shouldn't be out here, but he was just as stubborn as his father had been. It was perfectly clear that he was in bad shape and was not thinking straight: his only response to any of their admonitions was "I cannot let her win." However, short of tying him up and dosing him with one of O-Ine's sleeping draughts, there was no way to keep him from following them out into the field. The best his family could do was stay close and be ready to catch Kenshin when he dropped.

''''''''''''''

His back ached from being bent so long. His long hair was hot on his neck and fell in his face. His eyes stung and teared and he felt light-headed. But they were only minor discomforts compared to the raw pain inside. Those who did not know him, now doubted him; Seiji-san's family, who had always had a grudge against his, now had a sharp edge of malice to their dislike. And the children…the children now feared him.

He pulled a seedling from the cloth pouch hanging at his waist and reached down into the muddy water to press it into the soft soil, glancing up to look once again at **her** house. His enemy. She hated him and wanted to destroy him. Within the pain, a knot of guilty anger smoldered. Was this his punishment for all those he'd killed? But she had ruined his life long before he'd met Katsura-sensei: if she had not blamed him for the flood and deaths, perhaps he could have stayed…

After the first hour, his body was moving on its own. His mind burned with only one thought: he would not let her destroy him. The anger seemed to gain strength with every beat of his heart, and he no longer felt tired. _She will not win!_

'…_no…' _brushed across his mind, but was lost in the heat of his desire for retribution. He looked up yet again, and **she was there!** He straightened and stared as the rage exploded within him. He began to run, pulling off the bag that hampered his movement, brushing past anything that tried to slow him down. All he could see was his enemy. At the edge of the field, he grabbed his sword.

'**_NO!_**' rang through his head with enough force to make him stumble. In sudden clarity, he looked down at the sword in his hand—the sakabatou…Kuiaratame; he had sworn not to kill again! But hatred still coruscated in his veins and pushed for satisfaction. Oath warred with fury till he howled in torment. Wrenching himself around, he fled along the banks, away from temptation, and into the trees.

He barely slowed for the stream and surged up the mountain at top speed, but he could not flee the violence that pulsed within him._ I can't...But I want…Never! I've never wanted…_His legs would not carry him any farther, but he had not been able to outrun the horrifying thing inside himself. He had come to his senses just in time, but the frustration and wrath were still there, demanding to be released. There in a grove of young bamboo, he stood on shaking legs and threw back his head, focusing everything within him as he cried out. The thicket shattered, flinging shards and splinters into the air. Kenshin welcomed the pain of the ones that struck him.He fell to his knees amidst the debris as his legs gave way. Trembling in reaction and revulsion, he sobbed. _How could I even have thought…How...how could I… _His tears ran down and mingled with traces of blood. His hair—his long, samurai hair—clung to his eyes and cheeks and was plastered to his neck, and in a frenzy of remorse he gathered it up and, drawing the sakabatou, sheared it off at the nape.

He sat there in the wreckage clutching the long tail of red hair in one hand, the sakabatou in the other, as the adrenaline and passion ebbed away and left him hollow.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

They had gone back to planting rice; what else was there to do? But as Manabu automatically set in another seedling to finish Kenshin's row, he quaked at the thought of what he had seen.

He, Honomi, Rishou and Kenshin had all been working hard, when he had felt a sudden stab of alarm and had straightened to find a cause, discovering that Honomi and Rishou were also standing, their gaze—like his—drawn to Kenshin. That young man had been standing rigid, head up and wild red eyes open for anyone to see. He and Rishou had already started to slosh their way towards Kenshin when he began to move, his attention fixed on O-Ine-san, who had come out on her engawa. Kenshin picked up speed, and they sprinted as best they could through the water and between the precious plants to catch him. Manabu had reached out a hand to grab the young man and had been shaken off effortlessly, stunned by the narrow, deadly glare that he had glimpsed as the samurai flashed past. Rishou had fared no better, being flung aside as he tried to intercept his friend. The others in the field had turned in surprise at the noisy splashing. Everyone there had seen Kenshin reach the bank and grab his sword, only to stagger and begin to twist as though struggling against an unseen opponent. They had heard the terrifying howl and seen the horrible red eyes. And then he had disappeared, running faster than anyone could believe. Everyone stood silent in shock and O-Ine-san's shrill triumphant voice had carried clearly as she waved a strip of paper for all to see. "The youkai has revealed himself! He could not withstand the ofuda given me by the priest!"

Manabu did not know what to do. How could he reconcile the stubborn and exhausted but gentle young man of the morning with the fearsome creature that he'd just seen? Had Kenshin gone mad from the strain of memories and rumors?

The villagers worked soundlessly now, their usual chatter hushed in trepidation that the demon would reappear as suddenly as he had left. But the quiet was broken by a distant cry, followed by a crash of sound that echoed through the valley. Starting up, they looked at each other uncertainly, but when nothing else happened, tentatively bent back to their labor.

As Manabu set in yet another plant, he found himself muttering "Namu Amida Butsu" over and over.


	10. Chapter 10 Shades and Shadows, Pt4

**Disclaimer: Kenshin, Tomoe, and Shishō are not mine. I grovel at the feet of Watsuki and the multiple huge corporations that distribute his creations. Katsura is historical. Everybody else is mine. Some lines of the dialogue early in this chapter are from RK, vol. 20.**

**A/N—I said that I would try to keep this realistic. In case any of you are wondering…**_**theoretically**_**, it is possible to shatter trees, as per the last chapter. Same principle as a singer breaking a glass (or my husband's sneeze making notes on my piano sound): if you can find the correct pitch to cause resonance in the material and hold it long enough, the vibrations will eventually cause the item to break apart. Obviously, for a human voice to do that to trees is not likely….but hey! according to Watsuki, Kenshin can do it. **

**Sorry it's been so long since I posted. You might want to go back and just skim the last part of Chapter 9 before you read this: the events here pick up immediately after. Truthfully, I really don't know how quickly I will be able to update in the future. But I'll keep writing! Just be patient with me, please.**

**Vocab: **

Okami-san—landlady; hotel manager

hikyaku—express messenger

Mōshiwake arimasen—I have no excuse. I am sorry.

go-nin-gumi—five man group (the town's men are divided into 5-man groups for security and policing purposes)

Hontō ni—truly

danzai—samurai right to kill anyone that insults their honor

**Shades and Shadows, Pt.4**

**24****th**** day, 3****rd**** month**

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

The attack on the gates had turned into a debacle. Now they were running through the streets, trying to reach some safe place where they could hide. The last two men still with him veered off into a different street. He could see smoke rising all along his left, where the fires that started during the battle had spread, fanned by the wind. He agonized over how long it was taking him to get back to the Kohagi-ya and Tomoe, but he could not go directly. He could not let anyone see him: blood covered him from head to foot, and he would be set upon immediately. It was faster to dodge and twist through odd alleys than to have to fight every step of the way. He pushed himself harder; the warm wind was blowing the flames towards the inn. He had to get there and get Tomoe to safety.

He worried about her reaction. Something had been growing between them, he thought. But he was not sure: she was still a mystery to him and neither of them was willing to speak openly of such things. Would she be disgusted to see him like this? Even after one of his assignments, he had never been this bloody. He was almost there…

He broke out of the narrow street only to find himself facing a wall of flames with coals glowing hot at their base. The mountain rose high behind them, faint through the choking smoke. The smell of burning flesh was heavy in the air, and he could make out bodies crumbling to ash. But the mountain was not Higashiyama, and there were no buildings near.

It was a Chōshū mountain, and a village burning ground. The bodies of his family were burning.

He moved closer, his heart aching with fresh grief. A dark figure emerged from the haze, the sharp planes of cheeks and nose emphasized by the flaring light, and reflected flames dancing in the black eyes: O-Ine-san. She raised a stern hand to stop his advance and hissed, "Have you come to admire your handiwork? Leave, youkai! You do not belong here!"

_She will not keep me from my family!_ Livid with fury, he attacked, unsheathing his katana in a backhanded slash that cut her from hip to shoulder only to stare in disbelief as the gaunt face softened and rounded. Tomoe gazed at him sadly and shook her head before she crumpled to the ground. He flung the katana aside and bent to her, kneeling to cradle her in his arms. Cold seeped in and quenched the fiery heat, as the orange and gold of the flames leeched out to starkest white. Only the red of their blood-soaked clothes and the black of her hair and eyes remained as she looked up at him and breathed, "No…"

His lips shaped her name and he was wrenched with the unending despair of watching her die yet again at his hand. Her eyes widened and deepened, swallowing him in darkness. In the void, he lay helpless, unable to see, unable to move, waiting…

But all that crept in upon him in his vast, black prison was a faint chuckle of trickling water and the friendly chirp of crickets. Slowly, apprehension was soothed by the small sounds and the soft touch of a gentle breeze. His body relaxed, sinking….

…against the window frame in frustration as he glared at the girl. What should he do about her? _I remember this! Tomoe! _His joy at seeing her living face was tainted by the knowledge of what was to come._ You must have hated me then, but I never knew. I never could read your ki—never knew what you were thinking. _Everyone else was wary of him, fearful of offending him. But **she** had ignored his efforts to get rid of her and spoken to him as though he were a bothersome little brother.

She had stirred everything up! Okami-san and the girls; the other men; his own careful routine. And now this question! "Will you get rid of me as you did the black samurai the other night?" Did she know he had considered it? Did she know he had not been able to? That when he had looked up at her white, blood-spattered face and been drawn into those black, black eyes, his 'wall' had shuddered at the blow. _I had tried so hard to cease to think, to feel, but from the very start, you made me think about what I was doing. I did not want to see contempt or fear in __**your**_ eyes.

He straightened and leaned forward, momentarily distracted by the sheen of her hair in the sunlight from the window as he sought for words to justify his actions.

"You can think whatever you'd like of me…_How did you come to care for me when you saw what I was?_ …but I fight for the new era where everyone can live in peace. I do not kill indiscriminately. My enemies are only those who bear swords for the Shogunate. _How empty those words must have sounded to you. How could __**you**__ live in peace when I had killed your love?_ I will never kill an unarmed civilian, enemy or not." ….

He woke abruptly, his own last words echoing in his head. The sun was warm on his face and bright through his eyelids: it must be late morning. _How could I have slept so long?!_ His head was pounding, and his eyes felt heavy and strange in their sockets. He tried to open them, but could not. Lifting a hand, he found a heavy scab-like crust sealing his eyelids, but when he rubbed at it, he only succeeded in sending shooting pains through his eye at the pressure. He let his hand drop back to the ground, only then realizing that he was still on the mountain with wood and rocks digging into his back. Water ran nearby. Confused images swam through his aching head and brought a sense of dread. What was truth and what was dream? All of it was fragmented, and yet seemed so real…

Most disturbing of all was the memory of desire: desire to kill. In all his years in Kyoto—all the lives he had taken—he had never **wanted** to kill, but now he remembered the overwhelming urge--the **longing**—to sink his blade into his enemy and watch her die. With a groan, he rolled over and buried his face in his arms.

_An old woman. I wished to kill an old woman! I think I remember stopping. But I remember striking, too. What have I done?! _Tomoe's sad face reproached him and the words he'd awakened to came back to him: "I will never kill… enemy or not." _Pleasepleasepleaseletmehavestopped!_ _Or let it be a dream!_

He lay, suffering under his burden of fear and uncertainty and self-loathing, wishing that he had died long ago with his family, or with the three sisters, or never returned to the village.

"Well, that's certainly a useful approach! Everything that you have messed up will now be instantly corrected by wishful thinking." Shishō's voice was so clear in his head that it seemed the man could be standing right next to him, glaring down at the pathetic lump he must appear. How often had he received this lecture in those first months? "Baka! Nothing is going to change unless you get your sorry self up and figure out what to do to straighten things out." Kenshin could picture his master's pointedly longsuffering glance towards the sky and reproving demand of the gods, "Remind me again why **this** boy was supposed to be my deshi?"

His heart was leaden within him, but just as it had then, Shishō's scathing tone dragged him out of the pit of despair, determined to prove that he was worthy of the time spent on him. He pushed himself up, sitting quietly until the pain in his head eased. _I am indeed as stubborn as a rock. And as brainless. Have I learned nothing from those who tried to teach me, except how to kill?_ He tried to open his eyes again, but desisted when the effort pulled sorely at tender skin. He needed some way to soak them open. He became aware, too, of the burn and sting of many small wounds.

Skimming the ground with his hand, he found no water container, but a great many small pieces of wood. The image of slender trees splintering solidified in his mind. _**I**__ did this. I did this…after I ran! _And he had run to prevent himself from using the sakabatou on O-Ine-san! The relief of certainty helped him endure the realization that if that had truly happened, the whole village must have seen him. And the undeniable fact still remained—that he **had **wanted to use it.

He pulled his mind away from those thoughts. _First things first: I can fix nothing as I am right now. _He paused and ran his hand over the ground again, out a little farther. Where **was **the sakabatou? He put a hand to his head and felt the short ends of his hair: that, too, was a true memory, then. So the sakabatou had to be here.

It was not far away. He had evidently had enough sense left to sheath it, though he did not remember doing so. Using it as a staff, he pushed himself to his bare feet, tender from running an unheeding course. Standing quietly, he strained to remember what he could of what his surroundings had looked like; it felt as though his shout had cleared a fairly large space. He would have to step carefully. He cocked his head to listen for the water and began to make his slow way towards it, swinging the sakabatou ahead of him.

He fought against the oppressive recollection of another time, another unseen forest. By the time he had worked his way across the open space and through the trees and bushes down to the edge of the little brook, he was ready to rest. How long had he slept? Hadn't it been midafternoon when he was in the field? By the height of the sun now, it must be nearly midday. So, a little less than a day? Surely no more, for him to be so tired. He eased himself down on the bank and began to untie the sash of his jinbei. His fingers brushed against something soft: it was his tail of hair, tucked inside. His hair had not been cut since his family died…but now he pulled it out and held it in his hand, warm and surprisingly heavy, a tangible reminder of his loss of control.

Setting it down with a sigh, he finished untying the sash and soaked an end in the water. Its wet coolness soothed his eyes and eased some of the torment in his head, and he lay back, feeling the dappled warmth of the sun as the leaves shifted above him.

_I wish that Shishō were here. He always sees things clearly. He would be harsh, and call me a fool, but he would be right. How often did he tell me that I needed to think more and feel less?_

He knew he should get up and finish rinsing his eyes. He knew that he should take care of all the small cuts. He knew that he needed to deal with the havoc he had wrought in his life. But for now, he knew, what he needed most was sleep. He curled up on the bracken, sakabatou nestled in his arms, and surrendered himself to his body's weakness.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Noriya cradled his head in his hands. He was glad to be alone in the house; he needed to think. Himura might not be youkai, as O-Ine-san so firmly believed, but the man had certainly made **his** life miserable. Seiji and O-Ine-san had been stirring up painful old memories ever since Himura had arrived. Manabu and Hirō had been doing their best to counter them, but after yesterday…He winced at the memory; even he had almost been tempted to believe O-Ine-san's stories. His dreams last night had echoed with Himura's inhuman cry, and a horrible vision of O-Ine-san's headless body had stayed with him all morning.

What could he do to keep peace in his village? A rift was forming… O-Ine-san was a good woman: kind to the sick, loving with the children, well-liked and respected. No one had seen this other side of her for years. The village needed her. And yet, while it would be perfectly understandable for him to resent the village, Himura had worked hard and done nothing until now to cause trouble. And it would be within his rights to kill O-Ine-san: the rumors had been fairly subtle, but yesterday she had publicly denounced him as youkai. The humiliation was not something a samurai would overlook.

And Himura was samurai. Noriya opened his eyes and focused again on the letter pinned under his elbows. He had had a sinking feeling as soon as Tomamichi told him that a hikyaku had been seen on the road to the village. He knew it was the letter he had been waiting for …and he knew what it would say; it was too much to hope that his problem would be easily solved by learning that Himura was indeed an impostor.

"To Noriya-shoya:

"I regret that it has taken so long to respond to your inquiry, but your letter was directed to my office in Yamaguchi, and I am at present in Kyoto. The letter had to be sent on, as not all of those who served me in Kyoto are known to those in Yamaguchi.

Himura Kenshin has been under my command for several years, but was recently permitted leave. He is easily identifiable: his hair is red.

His welfare is of some concern to me, and I would request that you notify me should any difficulties arise.

"Written the 18th day, 3rd month

Kido Junichirō (formerly known as Katsura Kogoro)"

'His welfare is of concern'; 'if difficulties should arise'—what should he do now? He was not about to write: "Most honorable Kido-sama, this one regrets to inform you that Himura-san has gone mad and disappeared. We do not know where he is, but we fear that he will return and kill us all." If only Himura had never come back…

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

When he finally awoke to the night around him and sat up, the pain in his head was gone, and his eyes—though still a little too tender to force open—no longer felt alien in his body. In truth, though still depressed, he felt more like himself than he had in weeks.

He set the sakabatou down and retrieved his sash, scooting down to dip it once again in the water, and then rub gently at his eyes. Soon he was able to open them carefully, relieved to find that his vision was normal. The night was very dark: the waning crescent had not yet risen, so it was sometime before the hour of the Ox. More than that he could not tell, with the leaves hiding the stars.

Something small and black crouched next to a pale rock at the edge of the water. Even when he moved, it did not. Curious, he nudged it with the tip of the sakabatou, only to discover that it was the tail of hair that he had found in his sash. Reaching down, he picked it up and sat, running the strands over his fingers. In the jinbei, with his hair cropped, he probably looked as much like an ordinary villager as he ever had. Was this what he had wanted all along? Had he somehow--without even realizing it—hoped that he could return and find everything as it was before his family died? _I knew when I decided to come here that things would be different, but it felt so wrong when they were…And I let my feelings take over, again. One of these days I will learn, Shishō._

He set the hair next to the sakabatou and began to wash himself, using the sash to scrub awkwardly at the sore spots. He thought some places might still have splinters embedded, but could not see well enough to tell. And he was not really concentrating on what he was doing: he was thinking back on the past weeks, seeing now how foolish he had been, and sickened by the savage urge that he had found within himself. He did not know exactly why he had finally regained some rationality—perhaps his emotions had reached such an extreme that they had burnt themselves out—but whatever the reason, he was sincerely grateful. _When did the desire for vengeance on O-Ine-san eat its way into my heart?_ _I must root it out before I bring dishonor upon myself and those that have instructed me…Have I really always hated her--until I came back, I had not thought of her for years--, or have I made her the focus of all my distress?_

He sat by the rushing water, staring unseeing at the faint glints sparking its passage over rocks, as he contemplated the jumble of images left in the wake of his dreams: O-Ine-san—dead **and** alive; Tomoe—both beautifully alive and in that disturbing transformation; Shishō. Most recent was the series of assassinations that often replayed through his nights: the faces varied, but they had all become as familiar as his own. Each night that he saw those faces—angry, terrified, or pleading-- he wondered about the men he'd killed. They had been his enemies, but only because he'd trusted the word of Katsura-sensei; of himself, he'd known nothing about them. How many had been like Kiyosato: in the company of the wrong people at the wrong time? All the man had been trying to do was prove himself worthy of the woman he loved. Tomoe had spoken of his kindness, his gentleness. Kenshin had seen for himself how strong his feeling for her had been. Why had Kiyosato had to die? In killing that single man, he had ruined many lives: Tomoe's, Enishi's, their father's, Kiyosato's family's….How many other lives had he destroyed with each victim he had slain?

_How many would have been hurt if I had killed O-Ine-san? The village needs her…but she hates me. So what should I do?_

"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

**25****th**** day**

In the dim light of the andon, Manabu watched as Honomi carefully rewrapped Rishou's wrist. It was earlier than they usually woke—either Daigo or Makio had just passed the house on the last round of their watch--, but Rishou's arm had made it hard for him to sleep. Actually, only Naeko had slept well these last two nights. The rest of them had tossed and turned, waking at every slight sound, thinking it might be Kenshin returning. A pained grunt from Rishou made his father wince. If Kenshin did return, what state would he be in? Manabu could not shake the image of those lethal eyes and the force that had brushed them off like flies. They were fortunate that Rishou's wrist was not broken, as awkwardly as he had landed when Kenshin shoved him aside.

Naeko sighed in her sleep and rolled over, and his wife tied off the bandage and moved to wake her. In the murmur of their voices, Manabu did not realize at first that there was a third—coming from outside.

"Manabu-san…"

It was so soft, he was not sure if he truly heard it, or was just imagining it. He looked over at his son, to find him staring hard at the door.

"Manabu-san…"

With a glance at his wife and daughter—would they be safe in the corner if Kenshin was not in his right mind?—and a touch to his son's shoulder as Rishou also rose, Manabu went to the door and slowly slid it open.

He cast a quick glance at the street –all the houses were still dark—before he turned to the figure keeping close to the darker shadows. Reassured by the awareness of Rishou at his back and the bo by the door, he stepped out onto the engawa. "Kenshin?"

The young man slipped into the faint light and at the first glimpse of the uncertainty on his face, Manabu made his decision and reached out, pulling him into the house. Once inside, he could see that Kenshin was dirty and disheveled, but sane. The eyes were no longer those that had haunted him: they were still tired and a faint pink, but clear and direct…and sad. The sadness deepened as Kenshin noted the women huddled in the corner and men standing in front of him defensively. His gaze fixed for several seconds on Rishou's bandaged wrist; then he looked up at his friend with guilt and dismay.

"I hurt you?"

Accepting their uncomfortable silence as assent, he fell to his knees before them, setting his sakabatou aside in order to place his hands carefully before him and bow low. He spoke without looking up.

"Mōshiwake arimasen. This miserable person most earnestly begs your forgiveness for his inexcusable behavior. Please believe that he is grateful for all the kindness that has been shown him and feels great sorrow and shame for his actions. How may he make amends?"

Manabu stared at the bowed head, shocked to see that Kenshin's hair had been cut off at the nape. His bare neck was pale and vulnerable; he seemed so small and young in his pleading… Manabu could almost believe that he'd imagined what he'd seen in the field, though Rishou's injury was mute witness that he had not. He had been alarmed at the potential for violence he had seen, and had been thinking hard the last two days. This was Shinsaku's son! He'd decided that what had happened was partly O-Ine's fault and partly his own: he had known that Kenshin was not well. He **should** have given him something to make him sleep, rather than let him go out in such a state. He had failed in his promise to Shinsaku yet again.

"Of course you're forgiven. Get up, Kenshin." Manabu's voice was rough with concern, and he cleared his throat. "The only thing you're guilty of is being too stubborn for your own good. We've been worried about you." He walked back to the table and settled himself. Rishou followed his lead, remarking, "I don't know if that's the only thing. We had to finish his rows, after all."

Kenshin's head came up and he regarded the other young man with disbelief at his careless tone. As Rishou sat down, his father waved for Kenshin to join them. He did not move, only stared at the two men, unprepared for their ready acceptance.

"But I hurt you! And you were afraid of me when I came in: I could feel it!" He kept his voice low, aware of Naeko in the corner.

"We were afraid that you might still be ill enough to not be aware of what you were doing." Manabu corrected. "Do you remember pushing Rishou away as you ran?"

Kenshin fixed his gaze on the floor and hesitantly admitted, "I do not remember very much of the past several days… Did I harm anyone else?"

"No. And I do not think you meant to hurt him any more than he meant to hurt me the year he struck me in the face when he was thrashing around in a fever; you were not well. My wife and I both told you to stay home and sleep, but you are as bad as your father was: once you've got an idea in your head, no one can change it. Now, come over here like I asked." He turned his head towards the corner: when she had seen that all was well, Honomi had shifted the screen so that she and Naeko could dress—and asked, "Is the tea ready?"

"Hai." She hurried over to the irori and picked up the teapot to add to the waiting tray. Manabu looked expectantly at Kenshin, who looked abashed, but stayed where he was.

"I am too dirty to come in any farther," he apologized. Manabu sighed in exasperation, but nodded.

"Naeko-chan?" he asked, without turning around. His daughter answered from where she was replacing the screen against the wall.

"Hai, Otōsan?"

"Bring a water bucket over to Himura-san. And a cloth." The young girl scurried to gather the items and set them down before their guest. Manabu waited in silence as Kenshin hurriedly washed his face and hands and feet, while his wife set the cups on the table and poured out the tea for the men. Then she and Naeko retreated to the irori to prepare the morning meal. Once the young man had finished, Manabu sternly commanded, "No more excuses. Come over here. I want to take a good look at you."

Rishou looked at his father in some surprise at his tone, and murmured, "Otōsan…" in a soft, warning voice. The older man waved off his caution. "He may be samurai, but he is my friend's son, and I promised to look after him. Through grief and hesitance, I have broken that vow. I will not fail again," he said, looking Kenshin in the eyes as he spoke.

Kenshin moved to where Manabu pointed, with the light of the andon falling directly on him, and suffered his scrutiny in silence.

"What have you been doing? You look like you ran straight through a thorn bush. Some of those cuts need to be treated…but your eyes look better."

"I was sleeping. And thinking. How much trouble have I created?" Manabu watched the thin hand--so strong!—as it nervously ran through the short, red hair. Should he ask? But he let it go, and addressed the young man's question.

"It's not as bad as it could be, but bad enough. You were going to attack O-Ine-san, weren't you?"

Kenshin's eyes widened, and then closed in distress. He gave one short, sharp nod.

"I thought so. Fortunately, everything happened so quickly, and most people were far enough away, that I don't think they realize that. All they know is that you suddenly ran out of the field to pick up your sword only to begin shaking and twisting like one possessed. Then you screamed and ran away. It scared us all. But the real problem is O-Ine-san: she got an ofuda from the priest that morning when she met him as Chūgo-kun brought her home from Sakura-chan's lying-in. When you disappeared, she told everyone that the ofuda had driven you off. The people closest to you saw your red eyes, so some have started to actually believe her. Keita-san has said that he's seen men go mad after battle and thought that maybe that was what happened, but I've been telling everyone that you were ill. Most people aren't sure what to believe; they're just worried that you may be dangerous."

"If you know that I wanted to attack her, why did you let me in? My father would not have wanted you to shelter a person capable of such a thing."

Manabu's heart ached at the anguish he saw in Kenshin's eyes. "No, he would not. But you **weren't** capable of it, Kenshin. As much as that woman has made life miserable for you, as sick as you were, you did **not** attack her. Rishou and I were too slow to stop you; everyone else was too shocked to do anything. You stopped yourself."

The red head lowered until Kenshin's face was hidden behind his still-long bangs. They sat silent until he looked up again, face determined. "And what does Noriya-san say?"

"He has said nothing of what he will do. He has only told us that you are to be brought to him if you return. But Noriya-san asked the opinions of both the Elders and the leaders of the go-nin-gumi." He raised his hands, counting off the different factors to be considered: "O-Ine-san believes you will not return, but demands that you to be driven off or killed if you try; Seiji-san, of course, likes her idea; Hirō and I keep saying that you have **done** nothing to anyone; Tomamichi-san, Tatsunori-san, and Junsuke-san are uneasy and undecided. And then yesterday Noriya-san received a letter from Katsura-sama ---Oh! His name is Kido now—that has him worried. He does not wish to risk offending someone placed so highly." Manabu pursed his lips as he regarded his bent fingers, considering. "I think that he will do nothing more than what is necessary to save face. He will not harm you." Looking back up at Kenshin, he asked, "What are you thinking? Do you even want to stay, with the situation as it is? Or have you just come to get your things and say 'sayōnara'?"

Kenshin replied quietly, almost apologetically, "I wish to stay. Will you take me to Noriya-san?"

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

The mountain was dark against the brightening blue of the sky, and mist hovered over the flooded fields. Lights were coming on in the huts as families rose to dress and eat. He felt remarkably calm as he met Manabu-san at the edge of his yard. Not confident, certainly not justified, just…calm. As though he was finally taking a step in the right direction.

Kenshin had been ready to leave immediately from Manabu-san's house, but the older man had reasoned with him, convincing him that it would be wiser to face the shoya after his innumerable small wounds had been treated and he was clean and dressed as befitted a samurai. As Honomi had removed splinters with a needle, Rishou had protested his decision, wondering why he would choose to stay and live like a peasant, enduring the rumors. Rishou had asked if he feared that Katsura—no, **Kido**-sensei—would hold him to blame and expect him to commit seppuku to atone. It had made him pause; such a thing had not even occurred to him. There had been a few Shishi that had killed themselves when an assignment had not gone well, but it was by choice, not because Katsura-sensei had required it. No, that was not a concern. The reputation of his family was.

They walked the length of the street in silence. Rishou had gone ahead to tell Noriya-san that they were coming; Kenshin could see his friend now, back on the street waiting for their arrival. He had schooled himself to remember Katsura-sensei's lectures on the importance of appearance and attitude in setting the stage for negotiations, and to heed Manabu's advice on how to approach Noriya-san, but he felt the irony sorely: he, the assassin, not begging forgiveness, but acting as though it were expected by right of his samurai virtue! No matter what Manabu had said, though, Kenshin knew he would accept almost any penalty imposed by the shoya if it would allow him to move forward…

Rishou stayed at the steps to ensure that they would not be disturbed. As he ascended with Manabu, Kenshin assumed the dignity and assurance of one of Katsura's chosen guards, reshaping himself into the image he had not worn for months. At the edge of his vision, he caught sight of Manabu's startled face and cast a rueful smile in his direction before entering the house at Noriya-san's bidding.

''''''''''''''''

Himura had returned: fortunately, apparently sane; unfortunately, wanting to resume his place in the village. With any luck, once the samurai heard his conditions, he would find them unpleasant enough that he would choose not to stay. Noriya had seated himself behind his desk, judge-like, after sending Rishou out, assuming an appropriately severe expression. However, when Himura entered the room with Manabu at his heels, the shoya found himself rising to his feet—trying not to stare at the short red hair-- and bowing to the unexpectedly intimidating figure. His mind skipped back to the day of the samurai's arrival, and the uncertainty he had felt then. Should he proceed with his plan? He had come up with nothing better… But this was not the small, unassuming man he had gotten used to these past weeks. How would he react? Noriya was reassured when Himura returned his bow dispassionately: if Himura agreed to abide by the conditions, it should ease the situation somewhat. Coming out from behind his desk, he formally invited Himura to sit, kneeling in turn to face him.

"We were concerned at your abrupt departure. You seemed to be in some distress…?" Noriya delicately left the question hanging.

"Hai. I had not been sleeping well for some nights and was…not quite myself," Himura answered calmly. The shoya noticed Manabu's slight nod and stared at him, but the man merely looked back at him inquiringly. He returned his regard to Himura, who sat patiently.

Was Himura going to use his house's haunted reputation to excuse his behavior?

"I cannot give you another house."

The redhead only looked momentarily surprised and then waved the matter aside. "There is no problem with the house. --I understand from Manabu-san that my 'abrupt departure' caused a good deal of alarm. I regret any distress that may have resulted."

A shadow crossed Himura's face, and Noriya remembered the young boy who had borne so much blame, and found himself feeling guilty for wanting him gone. But how else could he return things to normal?

"There were, in fact, quite a few people that feared that… something…was seriously wrong. That it might be possible that …problems…could arise while you were "not quite yourself." You may find that you are now viewed in a rather…different…light." He had phrased his comments as inoffensively as he could, but even though Himura's expression remained unchanged, Noriya could clearly read in his eyes that he understood exactly what was meant.

"That is unfortunate. Though I do not wish to upset anyone, neither do I wish to leave yet. And you still need my help in the fields. So, what is it that needs to be done to reassure the fearful people?"

These would be the deciding moments. As Noriya matched the cool neutrality of the violet eyes, he could feel the tension; Himura had asked directly, and he would answer in like manner.

"First, someone in the village must be willing to stand as surety. If your presence here should bring any serious harm to the village, the entire family will either be slain or cast out, as the others see fit." Himura sat silent, obviously reluctant to put anyone else at risk. He had guessed right! And if it had been anyone other than Manabu who had brought Himura in, the matter might already be resolved. As it was…

"I will stand for Himura-san." Himura looked over his shoulder at the older man. Noriya could not see what passed between them, but Manabu repeated firmly, "I will stand for Himura-san." There seemed to be the faintest whisper of a sigh before Himura once again faced the shoya to ask:

"And?"

"You must leave your sword with me."

Manabu began to protest, but quieted abruptly as Himura put out a hand to silence him. Drawing the weapon slowly from his ties, Himura replied, "If Manabu-san is willing to offer up his family, how can I refuse to give up my sword?"

Noriya reluctantly received the sword, laid carefully across his outstretched palms. Respectfully, he set the blade down before him. He sat with his head down, staring at the weapon, for several seconds. It was as though they were all frozen in place for that brief time, their stillness emphasized by the rustle of movement and low voices on the other side of the partition. The die had been cast; the result had yet to be seen.

Finally looking up, Noriya warned the younger man, "O-Ine-san will not be satisfied. She will not rest until you are driven out or dead. There will still be trouble."

"Hontō ni…She is a problem. I have been considering what to do about her."

"You will not harm her?" Noriya knew that there was nothing he could do if Himura claimed danzai.

"Aa. If there is nothing further we need to discuss, would it be possible for me to speak with Yasu-baasama? I wish to ask her help."

"Of course. I will take you to her." The men rose and Manabu went outside to join his son. Noriya was curious, but asked no questions as he slid back the shoji; he would find out from Okaasan later. In the meantime, as long as he had Himura's word that O-Ine would not be harmed, he would let the samurai fight his own battles.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Kenshin walked through the early morning, Manabu and Rishou at his sides, Baba-sama many paces ahead of them. As his eyes followed her narrow, slightly stooped back, his thoughts were still grappling with their earlier conversation. Baba-sama had been relieved to see him, and he had felt touched by--but unworthy of –the indignation she had voiced over O-Ine-san's actions and the village's acceptance of them. From something she had said, he had received the impression that Kin had been just as upset, if not more. It warmed the cold place that had been inside him for so long…at least, a little. But they did not know what he had been—that there was reason to fear him.

He had asked Manabu and Rishou to come in hopes that if he gave any sign of a relapse, they could stop him before he could cause any harm. For this moment, he was glad that the sakabatou was in Noriya's keeping.

He had explained what he wanted to do: the idea that had come to him as he thought of past enemies and past teachers while he was on the mountain. Saigo-san and Katsura-sensei had been enemies, but had agreed to talk…for the good of the country. There had been arguments and distrust and misunderstandings, but with the patient intercession of Sakamoto-san, an agreement had been hammered out. Perhaps, with Baba-sama's mediation, he and O-Ine-san could reach some understanding, for the good of the village. Baba-sama had consented to help, but had warned him not to expect it to work.

When he had questioned why, she had said that O-Ine-san would never negotiate with a demon. He had been hurt at her words, until he realized what she meant. Even now, he could not quite believe it, could not accept it: O-Ine-san truly thought he was a demon! It was a revelation to him. As a child, he knew she hated him, and he had avoided her. The year he was sold, he could have counted on his two hands the number of times in his entire life that he had actually spoken to the old woman. He knew she called him a demon, knew she blamed him for many things, but thought that it was all a result of an unreasoning hatred: what had he ever done to her? To know that her hatred was a result of her belief required a major shift in his thinking. Perhaps, if he could just speak to her…

The street was empty, and most houses empty as well, their doors and windows open to the morning breeze; he had spent long enough at Noriya-san's that everyone was up and in the fields. Voices carried on the cool air and sounded close by: he could hear laughter as they came to the edge of O-Ine-san's fence. The laughter was not from the women on the engawa; Baba-sama knelt next to the old woman, who was hunched over a grind stone, a pile of dried herbs at her side. She was speaking earnestly, but O-Ine-san was shaking her head steadily…each movement of her head in rhythm with the thrust and pull of her hands.

When Baba-sama saw that they had reached the entry to O-Ine-san's yard, she gestured towards them, and the older woman's head snapped up, her eyes fixing upon him. As her emotions surged with her sight of him, he was washed in the hate…and fear…of her ki. Baba-sama kept speaking as he moved slowly towards the steps. O-Ine-san's eyes never left his: she watched him as one would a dangerous snake. He felt her fear grow as he approached. She ceased her grinding and groped in her sash, finally bringing out a length of paper.

"You cannot come here, demon!" Her voice was quavery, and more shrill than he remembered. The ofuda rattled as her hand shook. From fear, or from age? "Leave this village alone and take your evil with you!"

Her words were brave, but her eyes stretched and stared as he set one foot on the bottom step. The hate was still there, but was being overwhelmed by her fear. Baba-sama had been right. He tried one more step, in desperate hope that if she saw that the ofuda did not trouble him, she would realize that he was no demon.

She pushed herself back, away from him. Her legs drug oddly, and he could see that they were twisted and wasted: age had crippled her. But she stopped herself. Her fear was so strong he could taste it, and her breath came in a rapid pant, but she held herself still and faced him. "You will not harm these people. You have tricked them into trusting you, but I will not let you hurt them as you once did."

How could he not admire her determination? Her bravery? She had no way to protect herself, but would die trying to protect her friends. She would fight for what she believed was true. How could he condemn her for that—was it not what he himself had done? If he continued up the steps, he might prove his point….but it was far more likely that she would die from the stress that was wringing her body. He would have killed O-Ine-san as surely as if he had cut her down, defeating his whole purpose in trying to talk to her.

He turned his gaze towards Baba-sama and shook his head. Bowing in thanks to her, he retreated to Manabu and Rishou, preparing to leave. _O-Ine-san will believe that she has won this battle. But it was not a loss for me: at least I understand now. __I will not lose control again. _He would still have to ponder on a way to prevent O-Ine-san from turning the villagers against him. Especially after how he had behaved. But that horrible knot of hatred that he had discovered inside himself had been undone; he felt lighter, somehow.


	11. Chapter 11 Ripples of the Yellow Stream

**I'm Back **(thanks _so_ much for your patience and encouragement)** ,** but I have not miraculously managed to gain rights to Kenshin. He still belongs to Watsuki and all the various corporations that have licensed him. I'm borrowing him (and occasionally a few others) in a non-profit fashion and providing people of my own to keep him company.

The rewritten part has not changed much…just smoothed it out in places and made some of the speech less formal. But I've added the rest of the story that was supposed to be there. The entire "Ripples" chapter (however many Parts it winds up having) runs from April 23 to mid-June on our calendar.

**Who's who** (since it's been a while): Chūgo and Teppei are brothers, sons of Seiji, whose family has a grudge against Kenshin's

Kin and Norikazu are Noriya's children (he's the headman of the village)

Naeko and Rishou are Manabu's children, Honomi is his wife, and he was Kenshin's father's best friend

Ayu is one of the older village girls, as is Kanna; Motoshi is Ayu's father. He moved his family to the village just a few years ago.

Ichita and Yataka are brothers, but Yataka was adopted by Tomamichi. Ichita and his dad, Shun, are in the same five-man group as Kenshin. They, also, have only been in the village a few years.

**Vocab:** noren—the curtain that hangs in shop doorways

doma—a section of house or store where the floor is beaten earth

Irasshaimase—standard greeting phrase to customers

ken—about 6 feet

maneki neko—lucky cat; a white (or black) cat with its paw raised to wave

Ichimura—name of Kenshin's village, literally 'first village'

Naruhodo—I see; I understand

Sō ka?—Is that so?; Is that how it is?

kennushi—Shinto priest(s)

hour of the Hare—early morning; the sun rises in the middle of the hour

ohayō gozaimashita—good morning (very polite)

dōmo arigatō gozaimashita—thank you (very polite)

banya—watch house

shoya—village head man

shakujo—Buddhist priest's staff with rings (think Miroku….)

mudra—set gestures that have specific meanings

"The 'yellow stream' is the river that separates the living from the underworld. Just so you know. OK. That's enough for now. There'll be another note at the end. Can't put it here, 'cause it'd be a spoiler.

**'''''''''''''''''''''''**

**Ichirizuka **by older woman

**Ripples of the Yellow Stream, Pt 1**

**25****th**** day, 3****rd**** month**

In many ways, it was worse than when he had first arrived. There were whispers again, and the knowledge that he was being closely watched. Only this time, the stares were covert and fearful rather than open and curious. When he had appeared later that morning, wrapping the towel around his waist to form a pouch for the seedlings still waiting to be planted, there were a few hesitant greetings; no one was rude, but the majority seemed to be so busy that it was perfectly understandable that he would go unnoticed. And somehow, as he worked, those around him found important reasons why they needed to move to another area.

Gradually, others drifted in to fill the empty spaces. When he straightened to go back to refill the pouch, he was not surprised to find Manabu and Honomi to one side, Hirō and Yui to the other. Kanna and Naeko were behind him. Iori and Rishou were ahead of him. Astonishingly, even Kin and Norikazu were working nearby. His friends had surrounded him. Kenshin was humbled by their loyalty, and amazed that Noriya had allowed his children to join the group, until he saw Noriya himself, working at the edge—treading the fine line between Kenshin's friends and those who doubted him.

He was careful to move slowly as he waded towards the bank, in case someone had not yet noticed that there was no sword—either on his back or on the ground. He felt dangerously exposed with so many uneasy eyes on him, and the sakabatou missing…but it was his own fault, and he would accept the consequences.

''''''''''''''''''''''

Her father had been thinking all morning: Ayu could tell by the frown that had knotted his forehead as he worked, pausing occasionally to straighten and consider the bent-over figure of the samurai, who was some distance away. He was still watching him now, as everyone settled for the midday meal, though he was being careful not to be obvious about it. Ayu fanned herself with her hat; the leggings and pull-on sleeves for her forearms that she always wore in the field made her uncomfortably warm, but her mother insisted she wear them to keep her skin fair. Lowering her head so that her bangs would hide her eyes, she studied the redhead, too. He looked ordinary today. Well, as ordinary as such a person _could_ look. With his hair cut to his jaw line, he looked more than ever like a pretty young girl…except for his expression and his muscled arms. Why had he cut his hair? What had really happened to him the other day? She had seen him knock Rishou down and snatch up the sword and it had scared her—especially when he had screamed. What would her father decide? She didn't want to be around someone who would hurt her…

"Ayu-chan. Go sit with your friends." Her father flipped his hand in the direction of Kanna and Kin where they sat not too far from Himura. Hesitant but obedient, she followed instructions and moved off to join the other girls.

Kanna's smile at Ayu's approach quickly faded as she noticed Ayu's subdued expression. Faced with her concern, Ayu straightened and smiled brightly, redirecting Kanna's attention towards Kin, who sat silent and apparently unaware of her friends, asking "What's wrong with Kin?"

Kanna shrugged. "She's been like that all morning, but she won't tell me why."

"Do you think that she's worried about Himura-san's return?" Ayu waved her hat languidly, looking off towards the trees.

"No. Didn't you see how close we were to him? We keep our mouths shut around most of the adults, but we both think the stories about him are garbage. We _like_ him." At that, Ayu turned and stared at Kin consideringly.

Kin was barely aware of the other girls' presence; all her thoughts were focused on Himura-san.

She was glad to see him back—glad to see him calm. She had been _so_ angry to hear the rumors and see how quickly people chose to start believing; it had been as hurtful as if they had spoken of her father or brother that way. Hadn't they seen how hard he worked? Or how gentle he was with the children? Before the day of O-taue, the little ones had begun to watch for him, or call greetings to him as he worked. But now everyone was keeping their distance, even the children. _It wasn't fair!_

She had considered complaining to her father, but she could tell that he wasn't happy about the situation, either. He had let Himura-san stay, and that would make several people mad…

What could she do? Her eyes moved from Himura-san to the children and back as she finally made up her mind and stood up to go join Hana with the children.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''

Kenshin knew his friends were anxious for him. Manabu had made it a point to tell him that Naota had the day watch, so that he would not think that his old friend had joined the ranks of those who feared him. Even Noriya-san, moving through the other groups—trying to smooth things over?—had trusted that his children would be safe near him. They knew almost nothing of his life since he had left the village; now they had seen him out of control, mad with the desire to kill… and yet, they still believed in him wholeheartedly. He was staggered by their faith in him, but sitting here right now, he felt sick at heart from shame and guilt. It was hard to meet their eyes.

His eyes followed Kin as he responded to an idle comment from Rishou. She had been his salvation after his family died: a surrogate little sister. Even at four, she had had a tender heart; she had seemed to sense those moments when he was overwhelmed with loneliness and would crawl into his lap, nestling against him as he wrapped his arms tightly around her. She was not Aiko, but though his own little sister had been older and 'bouncier' than Kin, they shared that same concern for others.

Through the days he had joined her with the children, he could feel those old ties forming anew. He had started to keep an eye on her, just as he had with Aiko. From what Baba-sama had said, Kin had memories of him, too. Was that why she had been so fierce in his defense?

_What have I ever done to earn such loyalty from these people? How can I be worthy of it?_

As he drew his attention back, his gaze fell on Ayu-san, who smiled at him. Her smile seemed forced, though, and her posture was stiff; it was obvious to him that she was nervous. Had she braved his presence to sit with her friends? He smiled back, reassuringly, before he began to eat.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''

As he watched Ayu-chan exchange smiles with Himura from a spot under the trees, the bite Teppei was swallowing stuck in his throat. He scowled and his grip on the hashi tightened as though they were weapons. How could she do that? How could she smile at such a person, and not smile at _him_?

"What's wrong with you?" Ichita asked, startled by a low growl from the younger man.

Chūgo looked up from watching Sakura nurse their new baby. Noting the direction of his brother's gaze, he nodded his head towards the group at the end of the field, "Same thing as always. Ayu-chan won't pay any attention to him." He regarded his younger brother with exasperated sympathy, "Give up, Teppei-kun. Motoshi-san is never going to let Ayu-chan marry a fourth son. You _know_ that! Daichi and Norikazu will marry before you do…maybe even Mugen! If you're not the first son, no one wants to marry you."

Sakura raised her head at that, an offended expression on her face. "Gomen," Chūgo hastened to correct himself, "Ano…they may _want_ to marry you, but if their family cares for them, it won't be permitted."

"You got married, and you're not the first son," Teppei sullenly replied. "And what about Yataka? He was a second son, and then Tomamichi-san adopted him."

Ichita knew that his brother's adoption still rankled with Teppei, and he responded defensively, "You know the reason he chose Yataka was that Tomamichi-san is related to everyone here and we were new. This way he didn't have to offend anyone by choosing one of their sons over another. Stop blaming Yataka!"

" And I was able to marry and have a household because so many had died." Chūgo said sternly. "Who do you wish to die? To be childless? Stop being so selfish and grow up, Teppei-kun!"

Chūgo watched in frustration as his brother got up and stormed off. "Gomen, Ichita-kun. It was wrong to have involved you in that… But it _is_ a hard thing to know at seventeen that you have very little to look forward to in life." He looked away, back towards the group surrounding Himura. "And it must be even harder to see the woman he likes favoring someone he's been taught to hate."

"I'm surprised that Motoshi-san would allow her to be near someone so dangerous. Did you _see_ him the other day? He made me nervous when we were just on watch together… but look at him now. He looks completely harmless! " Ichita shuddered, then shook his head over the contradiction.

Chūgo laughed shortly, "Motoshi-san? Demon or not, if Himura-san's samurai—and especially now that we know he really is Katsura's man—Motoshi-san'll try to gain favor any way he can. He'll just make sure that _he's_ safe."

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

**28****th**** day**

Kenshin sat back on his heels, brushing the loose dirt from his hands; his small garden was coming along well. He rubbed absentmindedly at the place his sweat-damp kimono chafed, leaving a muddy streak along his neck as he looked around the yard. It was not _just_ as he remembered it—the flood and time itself had wrought too many changes—but there was a familiarity that had increased as he had worked on it a bit each evening. There were the laundry poles, the ash pit, the garden. He had even found the azalea bush Okaasan had liked so much as he had cleared out the side where the heavy growth along the creek had been allowed to encroach. There had been few blossoms on it, choked as it was, but newer, larger buds were forming as a reward for his efforts.

The house itself looked better, now that someone was living in it. He smiled slightly as his eyes found the cat, almost invisible in the growing darkness, under the engawa where it lay to supervise him as he worked. Kanna would be chagrinned to see it there: she had been concerned to see him reaching out a hand to one of the many cats that skulked around the storehouse, advising him kindly as she passed that that grey one was mean and would bite him. He had thanked her for the warning, and straightened up to continue on his way home, apologizing to the cat for his presumption. Kanna had stared for a moment and then laughed, and it had been a good moment.

He had made no other move towards the cat, but for some reason it seemed intrigued by him. Later that evening, he had seen her under a bush in his yard, staring at him. Every night since, she had simply appeared: at some point, he would look up and she would be there, watching. By the time he went in, she would have disappeared again. He stood and stretched, feeling a painful pleasure at the pull on muscles cramped from stooping all day. Somehow, in his youth he had never made the connection between the worn, bent frames of the old people—like Junsuke and his wife—and their long years of planting and harvesting. After a few days of a constant ache in his back, he honored their endurance. Slowly, he arched back, widening his stance and lifting his hands over his head. His spine protested, but he bent a little farther—far enough that everything behind him was upside down—before coming back up.

Too stiff. If he had to do one of the flips that were part of the more esoteric portion of Hiten Mitsurugi, it would not go well. If he was to be without the sakabatou for a time, perhaps he would work on his tumbling…

Though the top of the mountain was still touched by a faint hint of sunset, here in the valley it was nearly dark. Time to go in; there would be no moon tonight to light further work. He hopped up onto the engawa, noticing as he did so that the cat had vanished once again. Idly, he hoped that she would not choose to deliver her obviously imminent litter on his borrowed futon; it was really too warm to have to close the house up all day. Untying his obi, he dropped his kimono to the side and picked up the cloth hung by the bucket, scrubbing away the day's sweat and dirt before he went inside to eat.

The barley and vegetables he had cooked earlier were still hot, though the vegetables had gotten too soft from sitting in the covered pan. Before he ate, he removed the bowl of old barley that stood before the scroll and replaced it with new. He sat for a moment, contemplating the scroll and the tail of red hair laying next to it as an offering to his family—and a reminder to himself—that he would not lose control again, before repeating his petition yet again:

_Otōsan, Okaasan, I think of you every day. I am afraid there are things that I have forgotten. I know there are things that I have not understood. Help me to see my way clearly. I am grateful for the peace of these last few days. Watch over me, please. _

He _had_ felt better, ever since his aborted attempt to speak to O-Ine-san. The anger that had gnawed at his heart and inflamed his mind had been purged by the understanding gained through his grief on the mountain and his determination to face her. He still ached with the absence of his family, still dreamed nightly of those he had slaughtered…but the crippling burden of hate was gone. Most of the village continued to watch him carefully and treat him cautiously—some with fear that he could feel--, but it was tolerable with the support of his friends. He smiled softly at the memory of Kin's efforts.

It had finally become clear to him today…Every day at the midday meal, she had brought Kyouji over to sit with her, not too far from him. She had talked with the boy while they ate, playing little games with him until it was time to work again. She had not once glanced towards Kenshin, even when Kyouji would look over at him nervously. But each day, she sat a tiny bit closer. Today, she had brought both Kyouji and Fujiko, who was too young to understand the rumors. Fujiko had made her way from one adult to another, looking for pats and bites of food, finally settling down next to him, charming him into sharing his rice. The warmth he felt was multiplied when he looked up to find Kyouji watching them with a tentative smile, while Kin beamed with delight.

After asking a blessing on his friends, Kenshin shifted back over to the irori to eat, his mind once again returning to the problem that had occupied most of his thoughts each day. What to do about O-Ine-san? He had watched, and 'sensed,' and finally decided that it was mainly just those who hadn't known him before that felt the fear mingled with something else that gave it a different 'flavor.' Those were the ones who believed O-Ine-san's stories. The others' fear was more reasonable, justified by his alarming behaviour. The problem was that O-Ine-san's overwhelming horror of him seemed to be able to affect their reactions, just as Shishou had taught him to use his ki to intimidate his opponents. He had already given up his sword….what more could he do to reassure the villagers and calm O-Ine-san? He worried at the dilemma throughout his meal and the rest of his simple evening routine, until he finally settled upon his futon and closed his eyes, breathing slowly and seeking the stillness of a cleared mind.

''''''''''''

...He stared at the spot where his line disappeared into the water, his young forehead wrinkled with perplexity. His father had to speak twice before he twitched back to attention and looked up.

"Shinta-kun, what's making you think so deeply? Is there something wrong?" His father studied him with concern, and he looked away, not wishing to add to his father's worries. Otōsan looked so tired…He was only seven, but maybe he could learn to cook the barley in the mornings and at night when they got home from the field, so that Otōsan could spend more time with Okaasan and little Shinshu. He was pleased to have a new brother, but Okaasan looked pale and sick….If he watched Aiko more closely, so that she did not whine for Okaasan's attention, perhaps--

"Shinta-kun. Shinta. Look at me." Otōsan's big, calloused hand cupped his cheek, and turned his face back. "What's wrong?" He didn't want to look into his father's eyes: his father saw everything, and he would have to tell him…But the gentle hand kept his face firmly tilted up, and at last he set down the pole and reluctantly met the steady gaze.

"Otōsan, why does O-Ine-san hate me? Why does she tell people lies about me?" Now that he'd started, his confusion and hurt spilled out in the words. "Naota says his mother told him that O-Ine-san told Iwao's parents that I made him sick. But I didn't! Why did she say such a thing?"

His father withdrew his hand and turned his head to regard the water flowing by. Shinta could see the muscle in his cheek jump: that meant Otōsan was angry. After a moment, his father pulled in his line and turned to face him fully, his expression calm now.

"This is a hard thing to explain, Shinta-kun; I don't know if you will understand." He paused, rubbing his hands against his thighs as he gathered his thoughts. "You know our family has not always been peasant-- that once we were samurai. Because of that, we read and write, and have stories about different places and strange things that our ancestors have seen. O-Ine-san's family has always been peasant, has always been in this area. She has probably never been more than five ri away from here. To people of such limited experience, unfamiliar things are frightening." His father's hand settled lightly on his head, stroking his strange red hair. "No one here has ever seen anyone like you. They were alarmed at first, but they've watched you grow and play and know what you are like. However, O-Ine-san is old, and sometimes older people have a hard time changing their minds. She's still afraid of you, and thinks you may hurt her friends, so she warns them about you. She's wrong, but her intent is good, and she is our elder and must be given the respect due her age. The things she says are unpleasant, but just ignore them."

"But can't you make her stop? Why should she be allowed to lie?" he protested.

His father just shook his head. "To her, they are not lies. I have spoken to her several times, but she believes that I am blind to the truth because you are my elder son. I have no authority to do more: she's not in our group. Hideo-shoya…well, that's between him and me. Just remember: those who know you, know the truth; her tales won't convince them."

"But that's not fair!" Even as the words escaped, he wished he had swallowed them down; he sounded like Aiko when she was pouting. Otōsan was trying to explain, but his father was right—he didn't understand. He knew his words had distressed his father: he could see it in the tightness around his eyes.

"You're right, Shinta-kun. It isn't fair. But the world is not fair. If it were, it wouldn't matter if people were samurai or peasant, merchant or artisan." Otōsan's jaw clenched, and the stern brown eyes looked past him, over his head. "There will always be someone who won't like you, someone who will be pleased at any misfortune that may befall you. They'll be obstacles in your way that can change the course of your life if you let them." Otōsan sighed, and lowered his eyes to his son, his expression softening. Shifting, his father put an arm around his shoulders and turned him to face the creek again.

"Sometimes the water in this stream comes down with great force. It flows straight and swift and pushes everything out of its way. It's strong, but often destructive. There are times in life when we, too, can gather all our strength and power and push straight to our goal, sweeping all obstacles out of our way. But we must be careful then, or we, too, can cause great harm." He looked up at Otōsan's thoughtful face as his father nodded towards the smoothly flowing water.

"Most of our lives are spent within the bounds that are set for us, and our lives move along calmly, usefully. However…" His father pointed to their right, where the current was broken up by several large rocks. "…there are frequently problems that stand between us and what we hope for. Those problems are usually caused by people, but it's seldom wise—and often impossible—to entirely remove the difficult person. In truth, often that person will turn out to be beneficial to us. We learn the virtues of patience and discipline, even compassion, and…" Otōsan smiled crookedly, "we learn the skill of strategy. What cannot be removed, must be gone around, if we are to reach our goals. Do you understand?"

He didn't want to say 'no.' He knew that what he had been told was important, and he thought that he sort of understood...so he nodded. His father studied his face and then smiled and picked up his pole once again.

"That's fine. Just think about what I have said. And ignore O-Ine-san as much as you can; I won't let her do anything more than talk."

As the two of them went back to the task of catching dinner, he felt comforted and strengthened by the knowledge that his father was watching over him. O-Ine-san could not hurt him...

Waking to the frail pre-dawn light, Kenshin lay peacefully, savoring the mental image of his father's healthy form, suffused once again with that same sense of his father's care. He had forgotten that day, and was grateful to regain the memory, whether by chance or answer to prayer. The words that he had not fully understood then were clear to him now, and the counsel was just what he had needed. "What cannot be removed, must be gone around…" _I cannot—and will not—remove O-Ine-san. So, if she is my rock, how do I flow around her?_

He had knelt in thanks before the scroll, and finished most of his morning chores, before the idea came to him. He smiled wryly as he finished dumping the ashes: depending on his mood, Shishou would either be amused or appalled at the plan, but would not be able to deny that it should work. And Otōsan would be pleased that he had finally learned the lesson…

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

**3rd day, 4th month**

It was comforting to have the weight of the sakabatou at his side again--even if only for this errand--but he would have to clean it well tonight to make sure it was dry; as it was, if the wind continued to blow so hard, he would be soaked by the time he reached Mitō despite the straw raincoat that Yasu-baasama had insisted he wear. Still, Kenshin was grateful for the rain: he had not been sure when he would be able to take the time to make the trip to Mitō. The pace of planting had picked up as the end came in sight. The work was nearly done, but early yesterday the wind had come up, just as it always did when the weather was about to change. By evening it was much cooler, and he had gone to Noriya to ask permission to leave the village for a day and perhaps a night, explaining his plan. The shoya had been stunned, but had consented readily, even allowing him to pick up his sword as he left town on condition that he would once again surrender it upon returning.

Outside of the valley, the sky lightened a bit—the clouds were higher—and the force of the wind lessened, but the rain persisted in a slow drizzle. With the sweet smell of the wet straw filling his nose, Kenshin paused at the junction, pulling up the hakama that had become plastered to his legs and knotting them at his knees as he contemplated taking the way that led to the shrine set among the rock fields rather than continuing on to Mitō. But the priest that had blessed their fields had come from the Mitō shrine; it would be best if he could speak to him. So he turned south after all.

_…Mitō looks better in the rain._ All of the colors-- the brown of the wood, the pinks and reds of the azaleas, the fresh green of the leaves that had replaced the sakura —were intensified, while the traffic on the streets was lighter. In their haste to get out of the rain, no one paid any attention to him. Despite his sodden state, he was more comfortable now as he walked towards the business district than he had been last time with his friends.

He found the exchange house without difficulty, its size and impressive exterior making it stand out from the surrounding businesses even in this 'better' section. As he passed under the noren into the doma, he was greeted by an older man dressed in the worn, unassuming clothes of a townsman. In his humble attire, he seemed out of place, but it became apparent to Kenshin that he had probably been hired for the day because of the rain. Without ever really raising his head, he accepted the dripping hat and raincoat, placing them on a temporary rack in the corner and then handing Kenshin a towel with which to soak up some of the wet from his hakama and wipe his feet. By the time Kenshin was somewhat tidier, a soberly dressed clerk had appeared in the doorway to the main room and bowed.

"Irasshaimase." Straightening, the man's eyes did a quick flick from the short red hair (a slight widening just barely noticeable—Kenshin admired the man's control) to the katana. Reassured as to the status of the customer, the clerk extended an arm to invite him to enter and proceeded to lead the way. As he followed, the old man behind him began to mop up the puddles.

The interior was dim on this rainy morning, but warm and smoky from the glowing lamps and occasional braziers. They walked up the center aisle, low desks lining either side with clerks busily scratching away at ledgers or dealing with the few patrons, until they reached an empty desk about half-way to the openwork rail that separated the clerks from their supervisor, who sat surrounded by account books and attended by a young errand boy. Waiting until Kenshin had settled himself in front of the desk, the clerk knelt down in his place and rested his hands lightly on his thighs.

"It has been a very wet morning. Surprisingly cool…"

Kenshin replied in kind, making the meaningless conversation that he had learned was considered polite before business. It seemed doubly pointless since he could feel (faintly, but still more unpleasant than the clamminess of his sticky, wet clothing) the cool disdain of the man across from him. The clerk did not betray it by any word or expression, but the sense of it whispered along Kenshin's skin and echoed in his head as his ears caught an occasional slip in the man's polite tones. In response, he found his back straightening and his face settling into austere lines, darkly amused to see the clerk's covert condescension slowly shift to uncertainty.

"Ano…ano…What may we assist you with today? A loan? Changing currency for that of another han?…or for the new government's?"

"Iie." Kenshin reached into his sleeve to retrieve the gold ryo. "I need to exchange this for smaller coins."

The clerk stared at the gold coin that Kenshin placed on the desk. Kenshin could read his thoughts as clearly as if they had been written across his forehead: how did a samurai as poor as Kenshin obviously was, come to have a ryo?

"Sumi masen. Since the gaijin's arrival, the han's troubles the last few years, and now this war, we do not see gold ryo very often. Please excuse me: I must check its current value." His hand hovered over the coin as he inquired, "May I?" At Kenshin's nod, the man picked up the coin and rose, bowing, before walking quickly behind the other clerks till he reached the old man at the head of the room and knelt in conversation.

Kenshin sat quietly, idly noticing that wisps of steam were beginning to rise from his clothing in the warmth provided by a nearby brazier. He did not turn his head to follow the clerk's progress: his peripheral vision was good enough that he could see the expressions on their face as they both surreptitiously glanced his direction. Did they really think that someone would be stupid enough to just walk in and try to exchange such a noticeable coin if it was stolen? Even as he thought it, he grimaced slightly: over the years, he had met several people easily that foolish. Resigned, he had Katsura's warrant ready in his hand when the clerk returned, placing it open on the desk before the man could even ask.

The clerk, who had just opened his mouth to speak, paused in mild surprise and then continued as he realized what the paper was. "Ah! Sō. Arigatō." He knelt, and with a brief "Sumi masen. It is necessary," raised the document to skim over its contents. Kenshin knew the moment the man reached Katsura's name: there was a slight tensing of the hands that held the warrant and it crackled slightly.

As the paper was refolded and passed back, and the new coins were counted and stacked, Kenshin found himself repulsed by the shift he could feel in the man's attitude. Outwardly, the change was minimal-- perhaps a little more speed in his actions…a little more warmth in his voice—but the resentful eagerness that radiated from him now set Kenshin's teeth on edge.

After he had agreed that the amount was correct (_How would I know? When have I ever_ _had gold to exchange?_), and it had been safely bagged, he was eager to be gone, but still had to endure the clerk's escort back to the entry, all the while aware of the rancor behind the man's expressions of gratitude for his patronage. Bowing only enough to be polite, Kenshin accepted his straw coat and hat from the attendant and escaped back into the cool, wet day with a sigh of relief.

The shrine he wanted was some distance from the business section: out at the edge of town, a little ways up the mountain and not too far from one of the caves. His memory of the shrine was almost non-existent, since the only time he was sure he had been there was when he was five—and then his attention had been focused on his precious new top and the unheard-of treat of candy. It took him a while to find it, especially after the clouds lowered and reduced visibility to a few ken. And when he did get there, it was only to find that the priest was gone—maybe for several days, leaving only a couple of young assistants behind. Now he found himself retracing his steps, cold and soaked and frustrated.

However, as Kenshin passed a small shop with an oddly painted --but familiar-- maneki neko in the window, he realized that he was on a street that would lead him to the temple. And though it would've been good to use the priest that had given the ofuda to O-Ine-san, surely someone from the temple at which everyone was registered, and which dealt with all the funerals, would be just as effective? If he could persuade one of the monks to come, it would save him a long detour through the rocky hills to try the other shrine. Feeling a little more hopeful, he quickened his steps.

In the chilly, unrelenting rain, the temple looked as deserted as the rest of the town. The great hall itself was dark and shadowed inside, the paintings on the ceiling, and even the Buddha itself, seeming to move in the wavering light of the lanterns. Kenshin knelt just inside the door on the wooden floor, reluctant to step on the tatami with hastily wiped feet and dripping clothes, but relieved to find that there was someone inside. He could not see the person because of a wooden pillar, but he could hear a rhythmic chanting. The voice was low and clear, punctuated by an occasional chime. Kenshin felt tranquility replace his irritation as he listened. When the voice finally stopped, and he heard the rustle of cloth and the soft pad of footsteps, he had to mentally shake himself and hasten to get out the door and around the side of the building to catch the man as he exited.

The man turned at Kenshin's call, and his eyes widened at the sight coming towards him. Kenshin sighed as he approached and bowed—so much for his first impression: he must look like a drowned rat. Judging from the robes, he may have had the good fortune to have already found the abbot. The monk was an older man, with a pleasant face that even now held curiosity rather than alarm at the sight of a bedraggled redheaded samurai approaching him.

"Sumi masen. I am Himura Kenshin of Ichimura." At his words, the eyes regarding him sharpened and studied him consideringly.

"Ah. Sō, sō. I remember seeing the name and wondering…such a small village to settle in…"

"Truthfully, I am not sure just how long I will stay. There is a troublesome matter…"

"Naruhodo." The man began to walk down the covered walkway that led to a set of smaller buildings, gesturing for Kenshin to come along. Slipping his hands into his sleeves, he asked, "And could we perhaps help with this matter?"

"Aa." The rain fell more rapidly on the wooden roof, drumming so loudly that Kenshin had to raise his voice as he replied, "An exorcism is needed."

The monk paused to look out over the garden where branches bent beneath the heavy drops. "Ah, sō ka? That is possible, although the exorcism of buildings is usually done by kennushi."

Kenshin held his hand out to the rain, watching his palm fill, and the water run down his still-damp arm. "It is not a building that needs to be exorcised." He faced his companion and his voice was unexpectedly loud in a sudden lull: "I do. And the exorcism needs to be performed in front of everyone in the village."

**4****th**** day, 4****th**** month**

He finished his prayer and rose from his knees, his face showing none of his nervousness as he looked over to where the young monk was rinsing out his own bowl. Kenshin counted himself fortunate that the abbot had been interested enough in his explanation (and, it must be admitted, his money—temples were expensive to run) to be willing to come himself—and come that very night, once it was certain that the rain had finally ended. At Noriya-san's house, he had once more surrendered the sakabatou, and plans for the morning had been made. Norikazu-kun and Iori-kun had been sent out to tell everyone to meet the next day at the end of the hour of the Hare. An additional message was sent to Naota, asking for the use of his tub in the morning, since they had decided that it was better placed for their purpose than Noriya-san's. By the time he had returned home with the abbot's assistant as his companion for the night, Kenshin felt as though his original, seemingly-simple plan had taken on a life of its own. It did not help that Shishō appeared in his dreams last night, castigating him in scathing tones for being an idiot.

"Shall we go?"

The two of them stepped out into the early morning. The rain of yesterday had turned to fog today: tendrils of mist were curling about the houses and the fields and mountain had vanished into grey. But a certain brightness overhead reassured him that the newly risen sun would probably burn the air clear before the ceremony. He could not let himself worry—he needed to be calm and assured. He spared a final thought of gratitude that the monk seemed to think nothing of his silence, before he sank himself into the peculiar tunnel vision that had allowed him to perform so many assassinations. He would think of nothing but what was necessary…

Naota was sitting on his stairs, waiting. He jumped up, looking perplexed as Kenshin and the monk entered his gate. "Kenshin! It's you? What's going on? Norikazu-kun only told me I was to prepare a bath at sunrise. --It's not very warm yet…."

Kenshin's gaze passed over him and then focused on the tub; his voice was calm, but without inflection as he answered, "It doesn't matter if it's warm. I'll explain to you later. Tatsunori-san should be here too, in just a few minutes." Naota stared at his friend who was obviously reluctant to talk, and whose eyes were now fixed on the street. Something was wrong! Well, not wrong, exactly—no one seemed upset or alarmed—but odd, definitely odd. He shifted his feet uneasily as Kenshin and the monk (_monk?!_) stood silently in his yard, evidently waiting for Tatsunori-san.

When Tatsunori-san did appear, Naota was startled yet again when Kenshin stepped forward to greet him, as though it were his own house. "Ohayō gozaimashita, Elder. I am grateful that you came. Dōmo arigatō gozaimashita." The old man stared hard at Kenshin before he finally grumbled a greeting and turned to acknowledge the others. Naota thought that perhaps now Kenshin would explain everything, but instead, the young monk bowed to them all and excused himself, walking away at a brisk pace. One coming, one leaving…it reminded Naota of changing the shifts at the banya…Guards? He jerked his head around to the Elder just as the gaunt old man lowered himself to the steps and flipped his hand towards Kenshin.

"Well, go ahead. I'm here now."

Kenshin dipped his head in acknowledgement and undressed. Naota abruptly remembered that he had meant to add more wood to the fire and hurried to do so, while wild speculations jostled in his head. As his friend scrubbed himself preparatory to entering the tub, Naota gingerly sat down near Tatsunori-san, uncomfortable with the man's steady regard of Kenshin as he bathed. Humbly, he begged, "Elder, is it permitted for me to know what is happening?"

Grunting, the old man glanced sideways at Naota, "Everyone will know soon enough. Tasuke-ji's abbot is here to exorcise Kenshin."

"Oro?!" Mind blank with astonishment, Naota looked over at his friend; Kenshin had finished rinsing and was just stepping into the water. How could…! "But…but…he's samurai! How can Noriya-san ask him to do this? It's humiliating!" He surged to his feet, clenching his hands: this wasn't right! Something should be done! --But what could he do? He was one of the youngest householders, with no status to oppose Noriya-san or the Elders if they had decided on this. And why hadn't Kenshin refused?

Tatsunori-san looked up at the wild-eyed young man and patted the air. "Maa, maa, Naota-kun. Settle down. You know that Himura-san's presence has caused a lot of worry ever since he arrived. It even scared me when he had that fit in the fields. But this is not the shoya's doing. Evidently your friend arranged this himself yesterday when he went into town; the abbot and his assistant came back with him. I'm just here as a witness that he's doing this willingly."

Naota ran his hand through his hair, standing it on end. He blew out a breath and forced himself to relax, looking over at the object of their conversation, who appeared completely unruffled as he pushed his dripping hair out of his eyes. And yet, did he really not mind it? Looking at him closely, Naota thought he sensed a withdrawal that brought back memories of the bad time...He looked back at the old man and had to restrain his resentment as he asked, "Why couldn't I have been the witness? I'm his friend."

"Exactly. And that's why you couldn't do it: everyone knows that you two always stuck together. You might be tempted to lie for him if he needed you to." Tatsunori-san's attention was caught by something in the street, and he stood. "Ah, here they are. If you're restless, go help them get things ready." Naota looked to where the Elder gestured and saw Noriya-san and Norikazu-kun approaching in company with two monks, all of them laden with materials for the ceremony.

Kenshin had apparently not been as unaware of his surroundings as Naota had thought: without anyone prompting him, he emerged from the water, to dry himself off and begin dressing. Tatsunori-san leaned back against the railing and picked at his nails as he watched the butsudan set upon a small table and the necessary materials placed before it. The hour was nearing its end, and people began to arrive in their family groups to stand gawking and wondering to each other why the monks were there.

Naota felt Kenshin's sudden presence at his side. His friend was not watching the growing crowd, nor the final preparations, but was staring at the house across the street with a fixed intensity that sent a shiver down Naota's back. O-Ine-san's house. Of course!

_Come out! Come out… You are the reason I'm doing this; you_ have _to watch it!_ Kenshin knew that they had to start soon: Norikazu-kun was unrolling the straw mat upon which he was supposed to kneel, and the abbot, preparations complete, had paused to speak to Noriya-shoya. There were only two families missing. And O-Ine-san. _Come out!_

Chūgo-san and his family arrived with his father's household, and Noriya-san nodded for Kenshin to come forward. He closed his eyes briefly-- _This_ will _work…_--and then slipped through the press of bodies to get to the shoya's side. Taking him by the arm, the older man put his mouth close to Kenshin's ear: "Kin is with O-Ine-san this morning. She will make sure that she sees the ceremony. Be patient." Nodding his understanding, Kenshin bowed to the shoya and to the abbot, and then knelt upon the mat facing the butsudan, ignoring the murmur stirred by his action.

The abbot took his place before the table, and looked around. "This man came to me yesterday, asking to be exorcised." He paused to allow the startled exclamations to quiet. "He does not believe that he is possessed, but told me that there are many in this village who think he might be. For his peace of mind, and yours, I have come to perform the exorcism. But I wish to say first that either I, or my assistant, have been with him for nearly a full cycle of the hours, and we have seen no signs of possession." Turning, he opened the doors to the butsudan to reveal the figure of Buddha, bowing before it before he picked up the bundle of sticks and lit them. The pungent scent of cedar filled the air as he waved the bundle around Kenshin and then set it in a dish before the altar. Receiving his shakujo from the young monk, he began to chant.

Though he kept his eyes on the abbot, Kenshin was not fully attentive. Instead, he was focusing on the assortment of reactions he felt from the surrounding crowd, waiting for the unpleasant prickle that should alert him to O-Ine-san's presence. He did not have to wait long: the shakujo's singing rings had just punctuated a phrase when he felt her stare. With a minute shift of his head, he could see her on the edge of her engawa with Kin sitting close by. No longer worried, he began to listen more closely. The words did not sound like anything he had heard before: there were nasal sounds, and sounds as though the abbot was clearing his throat, all accompanied by hand gestures that did not look like the normal mudras and the occasional jingling chime of the shakujo. Kenshin was fascinated.

Since he could not tell what was being said, it took Kenshin by surprise when the abbot picked an amulet up from the altar and placed it around his neck. The ceremony had ended. He touched the amulet where it lay against his chest. _Do I feel any different?_

He stood, bowing and thanking the monk. Then he turned to face his nemesis. His eyes met Kin's first, and she smiled encouragingly. His lips unconsciously curved in response, but his gaze continued to move until he was looking directly at O-Ine-san. She sat stunned, eyes vacant with confusion. He had bested his enemy. _I _do_ feel different. I feel relaxed. And triumphant. I feel…good._

**''''''''''''''''''''''''**

**End Note:** First off, Tasuke-ji is a name I made up. I'm sure that Mitō has a temple, but I don't know it's name. And there _is_ a shrine near the rock fields. And there are caves in the general area; they are very well known.

As to the exorcism…I could find only general descriptions. All agreed on chanting and incense. One article on exorcism in the Shingon Sect of Buddhism specified cedar sticks, and said that the ritual did not come from written scriptures but was handed down by word of mouth, and so, considered secret. I pieced that together with an article describing an old samurai text containing useful information, in which was included a ceremony for exorcising a fox-demon. The language used—written phonetically—was Sanskrit, and the article mentioned that it came from_ mikkyo_, a form of esoteric Buddhism with Indian origins. It was this article that mentioned the special mudras.

.…The bath was my idea. Baths were taken to both physically and ceremonially cleanse oneself if contact had been made with something taboo, such as a dead person or animal. I figured that if you were going to try to cleanse yourself of an evil spirit, a bath was a good place to start….


	12. Chapter 12 Yellow Stream, Pt 2

Ripples of the Yellow Stream, Pt 2

Still playing with someone else's stuff: Kenshin is not mine, etc, etc. All the townspeople **are **mine, however.

**Vocab:** Konbanwa—good evening

Gomen nasai—(I'm) sorry

niisan--older brother

Daijobu—(It's) all right...can be used as a question also

Dōzo yoroshiku—something you say when you first meet someone; basically "Treat me kindly"

Hajimemashite--something else said at a first meeting

wakarimasu—(I) understand

yatta—yay

sugoi—amazing

hitsu—measurement for land, kind of like our 'acre'

Aa—yes

Chotto matte –just a minute; wait a little

koku--measurement of rice, sort of like a 'bale'

ano—um; well

ikebana—flower arranging

onēsan—older sister

Ohayō gozaimasu—good morning

sumimasen—excuse me

dōzo--please

itai--(It) hurts

kamidana—Shinto household shrine to ancestors

demo--but

Hontō ni sumimasen—(I'm) truly sorry

banya--guardhouse

Yoshinobu—the Shōgun at that time

mon—small coins

Jā—bye; later

andon—small lamp that stand on the floor

Oyasumi- nasai, neko-chan—"goodnight, cat"

nemaki--sleeping kimono

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

**Ripples of the Yellow Stream, Pt.2**

**8****th**** day, 4****th**** month**

Kenshin paused as he came to the edge of the trees. It had been a hot, still day with a cloudless blue sky much like late spring in Kyōto, but the western sky was beginning to darken, and the evening breeze would pick up soon. Before him stretched the rice fields-- fresh green plants in brown water-- and it was pleasant to just stand for a moment watching the swallows wheel and dive over the fields. The warm air was heavy with the odor of the slurry they had added to the fields' water that day, but soon he would no longer notice it. The pungent smell—along with the swallows and fields—were part of his memories of childhood summers.

Still, there was laundry to hang and his garden to water before supper, so he hefted his basket and let himself into the yard through the back gate. He could hear voices…and they sounded young. Curious, he set the basket down next to the poles and walked around the house to find Norikazu turning from the door while Iori leaned on a bō, talking to another boy as they stood by his steps. Catching sight of Kenshin, Norikazu's face brightened.

"Himura-san! You _are_ home!" He hurriedly bowed. "Konbanwa, Himura-san. Please excuse our intrusion." As Kenshin looked over at the others, the two bowed, but Iori apologized with the conscious dignity of a newly-fledged adult, "Gomen nasai, Himura-san. I tried to talk them out of it…."

Intrigued, Kenshin looked up at Norikazu, where he still stood by the door. "What is it, Norikazu-kun?" The young boy shifted his feet. Kenshin was amused: out of the corner of his eye, he caught the motion of the unknown boy furtively gesturing for Norikazu to continue, while Iori shook his head. _What are they up to?_

Norikazu swallowed and bowed again. "Gomen nasai, Himura-san. I told Iori-niisan and Daichi-kun about the tricks I saw you do. I…I was hoping that you would be willing to show them before we went to lessons. Please…," he begged, exclaiming with enthusiasm: "It was amazing!"

_Tricks? When did I…ah! When he caught me practicing._ Looking aside,Kenshin considered briefly. Did he care if it became common knowledge? Certainly, it would put another dent in his image as samurai, but after fertilizing the fields, having a crazed fit in front of everyone, and being exorcised, there wasn't much of an image left to worry about, even if he cared…It would just be one more odd thing about him—and perhaps it would continue his progress towards seeming less threatening.

He turned back and nodded. "Daijobu. I'll do it. But I have to hang up my clothes first. Come on." With the boys trailing behind him like goslings, he went back to his laundry. Behind him, he could hear a hoarse whisper: "Tōsan says samurai shouldn't be doing laundry. He should have someone else do it for him." Kenshin ignored it, as well as the soft _thwack!_ that followed. Once he reached the poles, he stopped and looked blandly at the three, waiting. They blushed but said nothing. Kenshin spoke to the air: "I have not met this person before." Flustered, Iori performed an introduction, "Himura-san, this is Daichi-kun, Motoshi-san's son" The younger boy, still red-faced, bowed. "Dōzo yoroshiku."

"Hajimemashite," Kenshin nodded. "Please, all of you, go ahead and sit. I'll be done soon." Picking up a wet pair of hakama, he shook them briskly and threw them over a pole as the boys perched on the edge of the engawa. "Daichi-kun, I believe that it is your mother and sister that have been kind enough to do my laundry once or twice…" The boys looked at each other in alarm: had he heard them? He didn't _seem_ upset…A hakama-shita went up, dripping. "But I must admit that I much prefer to do it myself, after so many years. I dirty it; why should I mind cleaning it?" He _had_ heard them, but before they could apologize, he changed the subject. "Do your parents know where you are?"

Iori responded with a notable absence of his previous disapproval, "They won't mind as long as Daichi-kun and Norikazu-kun aren't late to lessons. I've already finished bō practice."

Kenshin hung the last couple of items and set the basket next to the boys. "It's nearly dark. I'm not going to do much, or you _will_ be late."

"Wakarimasu," Norikazu agreed, "But _please_ do the one in the air!"

Kenshin raised his eyebrows at the fervent request, but smiled slightly. Backing away from his audience, he turned and bent into a handstand that held straight and steady before tucking into a tight forward roll from which he leapt up and into two handsprings. "Yatta!" he heard the boys cry. _I definitely need to do this more often. And run. I'm breathing faster than I should._ Turning again in the small yard, he faced back the way he had come, running two steps before thrusting down hard with his right foot, sending himself high into the air and somersaulting at the top of his arc. As he landed, he sank to one knee, his hand automatically moving as though to bring his blade to guard. _I'm not used to doing this without a sword. The balance wasn't quite right._

But the boys didn't notice. They had jumped to their own feet as he landed, Iori breathing a heartfelt, "Sugoi!" while the others stood openmouthed. Kenshin pushed his bangs back and stood up. The lights had come on in Junsuke-san's and Manabu-san's house. "Time for you to go. Manabu-san will be waiting."

He herded them out as they exclaimed and hung back to ask questions, then stood to watch as they crossed the narrow street and entered Manabu's house. His father would be pleased that Manabu-san had taken his place as teacher.

It was dark, and the garden had yet to be watered. Gathering the buckets, he made his way down to the stream in the fitful light of the first-quarter moon.

Watering did not take long, nor did his simple dinner of barley and cabbage. With nothing more to be done, he set the clay cup of tea down on the engawa and lowered himself to the wood to watch the moon slide westward. A light still burned in Manabu's house. Junsuke-san's house was already dark; the village was settling for the night. He thought of the boys earlier, going to their lessons, and his mind slipped back to his last night's dream of his father teaching him to read and write, beginning here on the engawa. Paper was too precious to let beginners use; he and the other young ones had been given brushes and dishes of water, tracing their letters on the wood, making the shapes and watching them fade as the wood dried in the evening warmth. Lost in the past, he dipped a finger into his tea and drew the first letters he had learned: "Shin," "Ta." He had dreamed of his family the last several nights…Would there be another dream tonight?

The faint crunch of gravel pulled him from his reverie. He looked up to find Manabu approaching his gate.

"Kenshin, there is a matter I need to discuss with you. Is it convenient?"

"Hai. I'm just sitting. What is it, Manabu-san?" Kenshin moved to the side, covering the damp spots and making room for his father's friend at the top of the steps. The older man eased down next to him, releasing a slow breath as he stretched his legs.

"You know that the rice levy has increased this year…Did you notice that several hitsu were newly cleared?"

"Aa. -- Chotto matte. Let me get you some tea." Kenshin rose to his feet and walked into the house. Manabu shifted to watch him through the open door.

"My family has one of the larger older fields. Now, one of the smaller new ones will also be ours. With Taka gone, it'll be hard to work both of them properly. Would you be willing to take care of the new one?"

"Would it be possible for that share of the tax to be sent under my name?" Kenshin inquired.

"Iie. You're not officially a resident of the village. And being Katsura's samurai would probably confuse things even more: don't you receive koku as payment for your service? Send the rice in, just to get it back from somewhere else? No, the tax-rice for all three fields will be sent under my mark."

Kenshin returned and handed him a cup before sitting down again. "While we were fighting, payment was handled a little differently; I've never actually received rice payments. Ano…I don't like the idea of you being responsible for any mistakes I might make with the rice."

Manabu waved a hand and reassured him, "We'll help you when we can. And as long as you're here, we'll share whatever rice we get to keep."

"It's not necessary to give me any. I'm glad to be able to help. I'll do my best…I just hope I remember all that needs to be done."

The older man smiled. "You'll do fine. If it looks like you've forgotten something, I'll remind you. From now till harvest, it's mainly just fertilizing, weeding, and praying."

A lull fell, and the two men sat in silent companionship, drinking their tea and listening to the evening song of the crickets. The quiet was disrupted as Manabu exclaimed and slapped his arm. Examining the bite, he dabbed some spit on it. "Time to put up netting," the older man observed, then raised his head to look at Kenshin. His eyes gleamed with humor. "Oh, yes…my students came bearing tales today…"

Kenshin looked at him innocently. "Oro?"

Manabu shook his head at the younger man. "Think of yourself and Naota at that age! I had to listen to a detailed account of your abilities before they would settle down. You'll be plagued to death daily to perform." Folding his arms and leaning back against the post, he regarded his young friend curiously. "You've said that you've been one of Katsura's samurai for years. So when did you learn tumbling?"

_How to explain? How much do I tell?_ Kenshin rubbed at his head, fingering the short ends of his hair as he thought out his answer. Manabu noted the pause, and the unconscious movement, but said nothing. "It was at the same time I began to cook and wash clothes. How can I describe the one who took me in after I was left alone? Shishou is an unusual man: intelligent and cultured and talented, but moody and given to odd whims."

"But why tumbling? To entertain him?"

"He said it was for balance and flexibility and to work off some of my energy. I was often bothersome, so it made some sense. And cooking and washing I could understand." Kenshin smiled absently at the moon as he continued thoughtfully, "But why teach a peasant to use a sword when it's illegal and he could choose someone of his own rank who would be eager to learn? Why try to teach a peasant ikebana? Calligraphy? There were several things that seemed completely illogical and unnecessary, but he just does whatever he feels like doing. He has little use for society's rules or people's opinions: I think that's why he became a hermit."

Manabu stared at Kenshin for a long moment, and then covered his mouth to hide a sound suspiciously like a snicker. "Ikebana? _Calligraphy?_ _You?_"

Grateful that his friend had been distracted as he had hoped, Kenshin winced in an exaggerated fashion. "You said I had improved."

"Improved, yes, but still…_calligraphy?_!"

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

**15****th**** day, 4****th**** month**

Manabu's prophecy was fulfilled, but Kenshin had managed to redirect the boys' interest from watching him to trying some of the simpler moves themselves. Today, Daichi had arrived with his little sister on his back. The women in his family were busy, and he had been assigned to care for her, but had still hoped to be able to come down with the others and practice somersaults and headstands. Now Kenshin bounced Yume gently on his knee to sooth her restlessness. Watching the three boys, Kenshin was suddenly struck with the realization of just how few children there were in the village. He knew there were six under age five. Norikazu was the next youngest, at ten. Above that, he could think of only twelve under his own age of twenty…and six of them had come from other villages. Many had died during the cholera, but obviously there must have been other problems since then. Yume turned and looked at him as he sighed, her eyes big with concern. He began to pat her back. She was getting sleepy.

'''''''''''

On their way back from the stream, Yume's two sisters stopped and Ayu peeked through the trees at Kenshin's house. "Daichi-kun is still there, so we need to get Yume," she said. "You take her home and I'll try to talk to Himura-san."

"You can't be alone with him!" Hana protested.

Ayu took the basket out of her sister's hands and nudged her to start walking again. "Baka!" she said fondly in a low voice, "I'll be careful, but I have to do _something_. Now that Kaasan and I have stopped doing his laundry and we aren't all working the fields together, I'm hardly ever close enough to say anything…and you _know_ Tōsan keeps asking." She shook her head and sighed. "I don't know what Tōsan thinks I can do besides smile at Himura-san if the man never even tries to get near me."

"Daijobu, Onēsan," Hana stopped to reassure her, "I'll tell Kaasan that you'll be home in time to help with the afternoon's work. What do you want me to tell her if she asks where you are?"

Ayu smiled, and adjusting the basket against her hip, reached out to smooth the worried lines on her younger sister's forehead, "Don't frown…you'll get wrinkles. Just tell her I stopped to visit for a bit. I don't think she'll ask you anything more." She linked arms with Hana, "Come on. Time for me to go charm the samurai."

''''''''''''

Kenshin automatically took note of the footsteps as they neared – quick and light: female—and ceased to regard them until they slowed in front of his open gate. Finishing the suggestion he was making to Norikazu, he turned to face his visitors just as Ayu and Hana stopped.

"Himura-san, ohayō gozaimasu," Ayu greeted him as both she and Hana bowed. Her eyes opened wide as she realized that he was holding Yume. "Hana, quickly, go get Yume," she said softly. As the younger girl darted forward, Ayu raised one hand apologetically. "Gomen nasai, Himura-san. We did not mean for you to be inconvenienced; we thought that Daichi-kun would merely watch until it was time for lessons. Please forgive his presumption."

The child reached out to her sister, tipping herself from Kenshin's arms as Hana gathered her in. He stroked her hair once in farewell, smiling into her drowsy brown eyes. "There is no need to apologize," he answered, and then looked sternly at Daichi, who had stopped what he was doing as soon as he saw his sisters. "Is it indeed time for lessons?"

Guiltily, the boy nodded. "Hai. Manabu-san told us to come at the start of the hour of the Horse as long as most of the field work is in the morning or evening."

Kenshin shook his hand at them, brusquely shooing them away. "Then go, the two of you. I will not do this anymore if you let it interfere with your duties."

As they slunk off, Norikazu paused, his face penitent. "Gomen nasai, Himura-san. It was wrong of me not to tell you. I regret that I was so irresponsible." Bowing low, he continued, "Please believe that I will be more trustworthy in the future." Daichi hastened to copy his friend and then the two boys hurried across the street to a frowning Manabu, who had just come out of his house in search of the truants. Kenshin turned to regard Iori where he stood alone in the middle of the yard. The older boy ventured a smile.

"Bō practice isn't till later, the weeds are out of our fields, and I took my turn watering the bean plants this morning. May I stay a little longer, Himura-san?"

Kenshin's expression eased, and he nodded before returning his attention to the girls.

Realizing that her lips were pressed into a thin line, Ayu smoothed her expression before Kenshin's gaze passed from Hana's face to hers. This was not going as she had hoped. What if the boys' carelessness put him in a bad mood? And despite what she had said to her sister, she was nervous about what might be said of her if she stayed to talk with no other girl around. Should she tell Hana to stay? She set her hand lightly on her sister's arm…but Yume was starting to fuss and no man would want to make pleasant conversation if there was a crying baby around. Hana took a step, uncertain what to do. Ayu adopted a sweetly rueful expression while her thoughts raced…

"Poor Daichi-kun. He has been so excited about coming down to visit you with the other boys! I am sure he is so sad to have disappointed you." Her eyes fell in apparent sympathy for her brother and she risked a quick sideways glance at the street. Kanna was almost done washing when she and Hana had left; perhaps...yes! There she was, just passing Junsuke-san's house.

Kenshin studied the young woman's downturned face, catching the quick shift of her eyes that did not match her regretful expression. "I'll give them another chance. But the time they spend with me is really no more than idle entertainment: it can't be allowed to interfere with things that are truly important." Curious, he let his eyes drift to the street as he spoke. The only thing to be seen was Junsuke-san and his wife sitting outside, and Hiro-san's daughter returning from the creek.

"Arigatō, Himura-san. That is kind of you. I am sure they will do better." As she raised her head, Ayu was irked to find the samurai looking away, a slight crease between his brows. Yume was settling into a steady grizzle and Ayu opened her mouth to send Hana home, but was arrested by the loud cracking of branches and a heavy thud.

Kenshin's head snapped to the side, and with an abrupt "Sumimasen," he left the girls staring as he ran to Iori's aid. The young man was just sitting up, clutching his leg where a deep gash was already bleeding. "Itai…itai…" he groaned. Multiple smaller cuts and scratches covered both legs. Kenshin knelt down and moved the boy's dirty hands away from the wound.

"Gomen nasai, Himura-san. I know you told me not to try a handstand without someone near, but you saw how well I'd been doing! And I thought that I was far enough away from the bushes…"

As Kenshin examined the damage, Ayu scurried towards the street, waving to catch her friend's attention. "Kanna-chan! Kanna! Come quickly, Iori-kun has hurt himself!"

"Lie back down, Iori-kun," Kenshin instructed, and then stood to go get the water bucket, only to find himself surrounded by girls and laundry baskets. Kanna's face paled as she saw the jagged tear in her brother's leg, and she crouched at his side, stroking his hair. Yume began crying in earnest, and Ayu put her arms around her and Hana, whose eyes were filled with unshed tears.

"Shhh, Yume-chan. Don't worry. Hana will take you home. And Hana," she whispered, "don't you worry either: I'm sure Iori-kun will be fine." She hugged them closer and then gave Hana a little push, turning back to Iori in time to find that Kenshin was already kneeling and had his hands pressing down on the edges of the torn flesh he tried to keep together. Kanna winced at a gasp from her brother and Ayu knelt and placed a supportive hand on her friend's shoulder. It was sad that Iori-kun had been hurt so badly, but perhaps now she could get Himura-san's attention?

"Shall I wash the blood off, Himura-san, while you do what you can for Iori-kun? Or should we take him to O-Ine-san?"

The red head raised and the light eyes appraised Ayu. With a satisfied nod, Kenshin handed her the rag and replied, "I think I can take care of it. The flow of blood should have washed out most of the dirt by now. While I keep the wound closed, wash off the leg a little more, and then go into the house. Next to the back wall is a dark wood box; please bring it to me."

Obediently, Ayu cleansed the leg as best she could around Himura's hands, trying for as light a touch as possible. It really did look bad, but Iori-kun was doing his best to bear the pain manfully; she was impressed. With a last wipe, she dropped the rag into the bucket of scarlet water and went into the house as ordered, looking around swiftly. There was no problem finding the box: everything was so tidy! Tōsan and Daichi-kun both tended to be messy, but everything here was in its place. Of course, there wasn't much here to begin with…Box in hand, she clattered back down the steps.

Himura barely glanced up as she deposited the box on the ground next to him, merely thanking her and requesting her to open it up and hand him the tweezers. The inside of the box was as tidy as his house: little bags of herbs, a roll of fabric, little boxes, needles, the tweezers…While he cautiously let the gash open enough to pick out the bits of wood still embedded inside, Ayu divided her attention between watching him and trying to wipe off any blood that made it hard for him to see what he was doing. He had slender, fine-boned hands with long, tapered fingers, and his movements were quick and sure. Once he had cleaned it out, he anointed the wound with a cream from one of the small boxes and then looked towards Kanna and the panting Iori.

"The tear is deep, but I think it is narrow enough to not need to be sewn if I wrap it tightly." Switching his gaze back to Ayu, he asked, "See how I hold it closed? Do you think that you can hold it like this while I bandage it?" She nodded and set her hands in place; Himura's brushed against hers as they withdrew. They were very warm… He began to bind the injury, nudging her hands out of place, and she sat back on her heels, hands resting in her lap with their reddened fingertips turned upward as she watched Himura's careful movements.

"I'll give you the salve to take home. Change the dressings daily, or whenever they become soiled," he counseled Kanna without looking up. "When you do, observe the wound carefully: if the edges start to redden or pull apart, he will need O-Ine-san." Tying off the dressing, Kenshin took up the little box and handed it to the young woman, who tried to thank him. "It's only right; had I been more attentive, this would not have happened. Dōzo, go home now and tell your parents what has happened. I'll bring him home after he has rested a moment." Kanna brushed her hand over her brother's damp forehead before rising and hurrying off in obedience to Kenshin's instructions.

Once her friend had gone, Ayu raised her eyes and felt herself grow a little short of breath as they met Himura-san's; his expression was approving. "Ayu-san, I am very grateful for your help. Dōmo arigatō." He bowed slightly and Iori murmured his own thanks as he lay between them, his eyes closed but his face not quite so drawn.

Unaccountably flustered, she stood, but then paused to bow in return and reply, "I am a clumsy girl, but if I was indeed of some use to Himura-san, I am glad." Picking up her basket, she excused herself and left, walking calmly though self-preservation urged her to get away quickly. It was fine to admire a man from a distance, and her father would be pleased that she had finally caught Himura-san's notice, but she would be a fool if she let herself become attached to anyone. She had already overheard Tōsan and Kaasan speculating on the chances of getting Yataka-kun or Keita-san as her husband…Oh! How stupid! She had left so quickly, she had not even washed the blood off her hands…

Kenshin got up quietly and dumped the bloody water into the garden, then set the bucket back on the engawa as he took the box back into the house. Passing his improvised kamidana, the tail of hair caught his eye and he stopped, realizing the irony of the lecture he was about to give Iori. _Fourteen. Iori-kun is fourteen. By the time I was that old, I had left Shishou and was already murdering people, just as he had warned._ He sighed and walked out of the house to find Iori sitting up cautiously.

Squatting down, Kenshin put his hand on the young man's forehead as he studied his face: his color had improved. "How are you feeling?"

Smiling shakily, Iori replied, "Better. For a while I was dizzy and felt like I was going to throw up, but now it's just my leg. It's throbbing too hard to ignore. Ano…" he hesitated, but then went on as Kenshin knelt to see if there was blood showing through the bandage, "how did you know what to do?"

"Can't most of the adults here take care of injuries that happen unless they are really bad?" Kenshin asked in disbelief.

Iori leaned on one arm and rubbed the back of his neck uncertainly. "Demo … they are all farmers. They're used to accidents and they can't always wait till someone brings O-Ine-san."

"Samurai have accidents, too, and injuries from fighting…and there's not always a doctor available. Your wound isn't too much different than a thrust from a dull sword. _But—_your accident could have been avoided."

Iori hung his head as Kenshin's tone changed. "I'm not too surprised when Norikazu-kun and Daichi-kun get so excited that they do foolish things: they're still children. You, however, are one of the men of the village and must be dependable in following the directions of your leaders and instructors. You haven't had enough experience to be able to judge when disobedience is worth the consequences you'll have to face. For there _will_ always be consequences, whether small or great. This time, because you didn't follow my instructions, you've not only hurt yourself, but caused difficulty for your family because you're not going to be able to help in the fields for several days. Was it worth it?"

The young man flushed and his head sunk lower. The lecture was delivered in a dispassionate voice, but somehow that was worse than if Himura-san had shouted at him. "Iie," he managed, and shook his head, unable to say more because of the tightness in his throat. He had shamed himself before Himura-san…and his family. He could not even kneel as he should to beg forgiveness.

A firm hand settled on his shoulder. Iori forced himself to look up into Himura-san's clear grey eyes and was amazed to find sadness there rather than disapproval. Bowing as low as he could with his legs straight out in front of him, he tried to convey the sincerity of his remorse: "Gomen nasai, Himura-san. Hontō ni sumimasen. This Iori has indeed been irresponsible—truly childish to act as though my knowledge was greater than Himura-san's. This one has not been worthy of the trust that has been placed in him. Please believe that I will not make such a mistake again."

"Diajobu. In the next several days, you'll have plenty of time to think about disobedience and consequences. Hopefully, by the time you're back to your duties, you will have increased in wisdom and judgment." The samurai's voice softened and his eyes seemed to look past Iori at something only he could see. "Don't push this accident aside as something you wish to forget, but don't feel too badly about it, either. At some point, we all learn that we're not as smart as we think we are." At that, his attention focused once more on Iori, and he spoke briskly, "Am I correct in thinking that you would prefer not to be carried home on a board?"

"Oro?! Hai! It's bad enough to have been so stupid without everyone else in the village noticing!"

Kenshin shook his head, but smiled at the young man's vehemence. Standing, he bent and pulled one of Iori's arms across his shoulders. Before Iori could brace himself for the pain, he was already on his feet, marveling at the strength that was hidden in the man's small frame. Himura-san was about the same size he was…how could he do it so easily?

"You can't walk home: the strain would make the wound come open." Releasing his arm, Kenshin presented his back to Iori and stooped slightly. "I'll carry you." At Iori's dismayed protests, Kenshin finally grew impatient. "You either get on, or I find a board and someone to help me. I will not let you walk. Choose now." Embarrassed (Had he not just finished saying that he would not question Himura-san's instructions again?), Iori silently placed his arms around Kenshin's neck and leaned against his back as the samurai carefully straightened up and braced his hands under Iori's thighs.

The trip to Iori's house was slow but steady. Kenshin was careful to keep the injury as still as possible, but could tell from the rigidity of Iori's body that his young friend was suffering a good deal. The few people met were answered with a smile and a vague comment. It was a relief to arrive in the dooryard to find Kanna waiting to steer him towards Iori's futon…and even more of one to find that the stain on the bandages was not much bigger. Despite the family's attempts to persuade him to stay after Iori had been settled, Kenshin politely refused and, after apologizing for his inadequate supervision, left them to their midday meal.

He could feel tiredness tugging at him as he walked back the way he had come: last night had been his turn in the banya with Manabu. Instead of going to bed as the sun rose, they had both eaten a quick meal and gone out to the fields to weed, but that was not so different than the hours he had kept all these years. He had always risen early, despite the constant demands on his nights. Still, perhaps it was the tiredness that made the thought of keeping to his house the rest of the day seem appealing…

"Oi! Oi! Himura-san!"

Kenshin turned at the sound of his name to find Keita-san striding down the street. Seeing that he had caught Kenshin's attention, the older man broke into a jog until he came level. As Keita bowed, Kenshin's eyes were drawn to the rolled-up paper in his hand.

"Ohayō! I was coming to see you. You asked, last time, if I would bring you a news-paper if I saw one in town." Keita extended his hand and, with a grin, presented Kenshin with the paper. "I read some of it. There's good news: Edo Castle has been surrendered and Yoshinobu has gone into voluntary exile"

The hope that surged up in Kenshin's heart was immediate, and he could not help grinning back. _Surely the fighting will stop now. Everyone's sons will be able to come home. Manabu will not have to worry about Taka any more. _His high spirits were quickly tempered, however, when the first thing that met his eyes as he unrolled the sheet was a drawing of a displayed head. He rolled the paper back up and gestured with it towards his house. "Would you like to come in? I will make us something to eat…"

Keita shook his head regretfully. "Dōmo, but I can't. Noriya-san wants to talk to me about something. Oh, and when you're done with your paper, he would like to see it." He dipped his head and began to walk away, only to pause and turn again, fumbling in his sleeve. "Gomen. I almost forgot. The paper did not cost that much." He held out several mon.

_Will he be offended if I tell him to keep them? _"Keita-san, you were the one who had to leave his field to go into town. I appreciate your kindness in remembering my request. Dōzo…"

Kenshin could see a brief indecision in the man's eyes before his fingers closed back around the coins. "Hai. I'll keep them. The next time I go into town, I'll see if I can find another news-paper for you. Jā…"

Kenshin sighed at the retreating back; that was exactly what Keita-san would do. If he could not find a paper, the money would either sit unused forever, or be returned.

'''''''''''

From where he lay on his futon, he could see the full moon balanced on the tops of the trees, filtered by the netting and sliced into segments by the window slats. He shifted his head on his pillowing arms until it shone straight into his eyes, dazzling him. It was earlier than he usually went to bed and he was not particularly tired, but he was ready for the long, slow day to end. He wanted to sleep: the dreams of family had continued. Each night had followed the same pattern: he would fall asleep and dream his usual gory dreams and wake up, and then, in the stillest, darkest part of the night, he would fall asleep again, and his family was there.

He closed his eyes and turned restlessly onto his side, but the light still shone through his eyelids. He had read the paper that afternoon…Edo Castle had indeed been surrendered to the Emperor's representatives and Yoshinobu had, in fact, retreated to his family's lands in Mito: both good things, and yet…The head had been Kondo Isami's, beheaded for the murder of Sakamoto Ryōma. It was not impossible that the Shinsengumi had been behind his assassination: they had surely been responsible for the deaths of as many people as the hitokiri were, and yet… After reading the whole paper, he did not have the same hopeful feeling that had come to him that morning, but rather a sense of foreboding…

He rolled onto his other side, away from the moon. Facing the wall, it was dark. Lying there, listening to the silence that was only emphasized by the chirp of crickets, Kenshin heard a faint squealing. He raised his head, angling it to try to determine where the sound was coming from. _Not in the house._ Lying flat, he pressed his ear to the bare floorboards. After a pause, he could hear the squeaking again. _Mice? Rats?_ It would not be good to have a nest of either under his house. He hadn't seen the grey cat for a few days; perhaps he should try to encourage her return. He was wide awake, and the noise was irritating enough that it would make it even harder to sleep, so he rose and picked up the andon and his bō.

The night was bright enough that he did not need to depend on the andon's light until he had made his way around to the side of his house nearest Shun's. When he drove the vermin out, he would have to make sure they did not run to his neighbor's. Crouching down, he set the andon to his side and began to part the grass with his bō. _I should borrow a sickle and clear this all out. Ah! There…_ He pushed the andon forward a little, so he could see what he was dealing with, and two eyes gleamed back at him. The grey cat put back her ears and hissed. Squirming around her was a tumble of recently-born kittens. _At least she didn't have them in the house…_

He sat back on his haunches. Out here, the kittens' squeaks could barely be heard. "Sumimasen. I didn't mean to disturb you, but you are right under my futon." When he made no other move, the cat ignored him, and began to groom her babies. Kenshin watched, beguiled by the peaceful maternal scene. Finally, he gave a soft laugh and rose to go back into his house, where he moved his futon across the room. As he settled himself once again, he spoke to the empty room: "Oyasumi- nasai, neko-chan." Smiling to himself, he lay down and closed his eyes.

--He could hear someone moving in the other room. But his house only had one room…and he was not on his futon. He was leaning against a wall, as he had for so many nights. Opening his eyes just a little, he scanned as much of the dim room as he could see. It was unfamiliar to him. _I know there are drugs that can render one unconscious…How did I not hear anyone as they approached? Who has found me?_ He focused his awareness, but felt no threat. He did not even sense any presence in this room.

And he was not bound. Kenshin opened his eyes all the way. He was in a pleasant room lit by a single andon, a futon big enough for two people laid out in the center. A door to the outside was open, with a screen placed before it. There were no trees visible, no crickets chirping…not even the whine of a mosquito. All was silent except for the soft steps he could hear moving back and forth in another room. In the corner of the room where the andon stood was a sword stand…which held his sakabatō. The full moon, shining through the doorway, was no higher than when he had gone to bed. A chill ran down Kenshin's back._ Where am I?_

The footsteps neared, and he could see a shadow on the shoji as the person on the other side knelt to open the door. He closed his eyes most of the way and slowed his breathing to the rhythm of sleep, as the door creaked a bit and then slid back smoothly. Despite the shadows at that end of the room, he could tell that it was a woman in a simple white nemaki, her hair loose for the night. He could not see her face as she turned and slid the door shut, but the movements were so familiar…his throat tightened. Then, as she rose and moved into the room, the light fell on her face.

"Tomoe!" He felt as though his heart would burst as she gazed back at him with those black, black eyes that he could never read. She said nothing, but knelt and crawled into the futon, drawing the cover up a bit. When it was arranged to her liking, she looked back at him where he sat frozen by the wall, and held out her hand.

"Come, husband. It's time to rest."


	13. Chapter 13 Ripples, Pt 3

**Yes, I'm still here, still writing. Just slow, but I'm improving a bit. Kenshin and Tomoe remain Watsuki's creations, promulgated and disseminated by giant corporations. All the other characters are my own invention.**

**Vocab:** Banya—watch house

Shitsurei shimasu—'excuse me' (more literally, something like: I'm about to be rude)

Sō ka?—is that so?

Daijobu—he, she, it, I, they, you, we, etc…is all right

Ojiisan—grandfather

Yoshinobu—the last shōgun

Kondo—Kondo Isami, leader of the Shinsengumi

Sumimasen—excuse me; sorry

Oyasumi nasai—good night

Konban-wa—good evening

Gomen nasai—I'm sorry

Ano—uh

Honbyakushō—landowner in a village, with a voice in village councils and eligible to hold positions in the village

Mizunomi—basically a share-cropper; works someone else's land; has no voice in village matters

Omekake—concubine, mistress

Ichimura—Kenshin's village

Koku—value of a particular measure of rice

Nani—what

Ē—can mean yes, but in this case, it's "wellll…"

Jōdan—joke or joking

Ēto—'well' or 'let me see…"

Shō ga nai—"It can't be helped"

Ahou—idiot

Zabuton—floor cushion

Nemaki—sleeping robe

Okaeri—welcome home

Tadaima—I'm home

Vow of two worlds—wedding vow (I found this phrase in several Japanese ghost stories, referred to by the ghost of a wife who

had been ill treated. Moral: better treat her well if she's bound to you in the next life, too)

''''''''''''''''

**Ichirizuka**

**Ripples of theYellow Stream, Pt. 3**

**20th day, 4****th**** month**

Kenshin's thoughts had returned to the dream for the thousandth time. Always before, his dreams of Tomoe had been recognizable as memories of their time together-- or else horrible variations of her death. This dream had been something entirely new. His dreams were always vivid, but this one had _felt_ more real in a way that he could not put into words. And _none_ of it had been familiar, save Tomoe's silence.

When had they ever shared a futon, save that last night? And the strangeness of dreaming of sleeping, while asleep…In that dream-sleep, he had wakened several times. Each time had brought a shock of wonder that she was there, sleeping peacefully by his side. Even in sleep, she was reserved, lying straight on her back until finally she had turned towards him, and he could savor her sleeping face in the faint light of the andon: her ivory complexion, the wisps of hair straying across her face, the slightly parted lips. He wanted so much to touch her…but was afraid to. To have finally opened his eyes to the familiar emptiness of his house had truly been a rude awakening, but the memory had not faded; days later, he could still close his eyes and see her again clearly….

Ichita jerked awake as his head dropped; he'd dozed off again. He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes and arched back against the wall, stretching until he felt his spine pop. Once he felt more alert, he looked over to where Himura-san had been sitting. The samurai was still there, still awake. One advantage of having him as a partner on watch was that it wouldn't matter too much if you fell asleep: he never seemed to get tired. Never seemed to get bored, either. Himura-san wasn't much for talking, but had been willing to listen to his ramblings as they waited out the night together. Actually, he'd been surprisingly pleasant company, especially considering that he'd been asked to fill in for Ushio-san even though he'd had night duty just days before.

Realizing that his companion was staring fixedly in one direction, Ichita leaned forward to see what had caught his attention. There was nothing noticeable, at least to his eyes. The sky had lightened, but the village was still in shadow. Most windows were lit. As soon as the sun rose, the day watch would relieve them.

"Himura-san? Himura-san? What do you see?"

With a slight start, Ichita's partner turned to face him. Pale eyes shone oddly in the weakening lamp light and Ichita clenched his teeth to stifle an exclamation. He was ashamed of his instant of fear as Himura-san scrubbed at his red hair and straightened up, smiling ruefully.

"Nothing. There's nothing there. My mind was wandering."

Himura-san seemed so approachable—so _ordinary_—in that moment, that Ichita felt bold enough to ask a personal question.

"Himura-san, I see you teaching the boys tumbling…"

The samurai cocked his head. "Hai?"

"Where did you learn that? Why would a samurai do such a thing?" The words came out faster than he'd intended; he was embarrassed at how young it made him sound.

"Oh, that? I learned it from Shishou. The boys were interested, so I've taught them a little." He pulled on the ends of his rumpled hair thoughtfully. "Why do I do it? As one of Katsura…_Kido_-sensei's samurai, I must be ready if he calls me. Though farming is hard work, it does nothing for the balance and timing needed with a katana. So, I have taken to running and tumbling to stay in condition, since I cannot use my sword right now."

His words reminded Ichita of _why_ Himura-san did not have his sword. Remembering their first watch together, the scary person then seemed so different from the man sitting near him now…_Had_ he been possessed?

The first rays of sun slid over the mountain and lit the roofs of the houses. The dim figures of those who had made an early start in their fields became clear, as well as those of the two men coming up the path to the banya. Kenshin stood and stretched. Then, blowing out the light of the andon, he followed Ichita down.

Chūgo was speaking rapidly to Keita as they approached, but looked away when Keita gave a quick nod. Greeting the two as he passed, Kenshin found his arm gripped by Keita.

"Himura-san. Shitsurei shimasu. Could you come back to the banya? There is something…"

Ichita was already most of the way down, hurrying to his breakfast. Curious, Kenshin nodded agreement and turned back the way he had come, falling in step with the other men, Chūgo's silence conspicuous against the idle morning remarks of his companion.

Once they had entered the banya, however, it was Keita who excused himself and went back out, and Chūgo who began to speak without looking at Kenshin.

"For ten years, my father has been at peace. Now someone of that family is back and every day is a trial to him. Your presence alone, with no effort on your part, is an irritation. I have never understood this, but I honor my father and will not associate with you in a manner that would upset him further. Now, though, I must also deal with my younger brother who has developed his own hatred of you. He is hot-tempered and impulsive, and may do something foolish. I would ask Himura-san to be careful…"

Kenshin frowned in thought, "Your younger brother…?"

"Teppei-kun."

The name triggered an image of a scowling, solidly-built young man "Ah, sō ka?…But I have not even been near him. How have I offended?"

Chūgo sighed heavily and finally looked at him. "Himura-san. You have drawn the attention of every marriageable girl in this village, including the one my brother is interested in. He is jealous of you."

"Oro?! This thing…I have done nothing!" Kenshin was truly shocked.

Chūgo rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. "Sō, sō, sō... You do not _have_ to do anything. You are young, good-looking, and samurai: how can the rest of us compete? If I were not married, _I_ would probably be jealous. I just wanted you to be aware. If there is some way that you can keep a greater distance from Ayu-san, it may be helpful."

"Arigatō, Chūgo-san. The warning is appreciated. I have no wish to increase the distance between our families."

Having said all that was needed, Chūgo bowed and turned away. Kenshin bowed to his back, and left the banya, walking down the hill deep in thought.

''''''''''''''

The morning had gone quickly. Daichi-kun and Norikazu-kun had already left for their lessons, and Iori-kun had limped to the end of the engawa to ask his sister a question. The last few days, the boys' sisters had taken to coming down with them, sitting at the far end and talking among themselves as they worked on sewing or some other hand-work. Kin's eyes strayed again to Himura-san in perplexity, wondering what was causing his obvious preoccupation today.

Kenshin's hands slowed, and finally stopped altogether. The straw mat he was working on was forgotten as he puzzled over how to suddenly discourage the young women's presence after days of allowing it.

The feeling of being watched finally penetrated his reverie and he looked up to find Kin's eyes fixed on him, a worried expression on her face. The worry was replaced by a shy smile as their eyes met, and Kenshin regretted the restraint he now felt; Kin-chan, along with Yasu-baasama and Manabu-san, were the three living beings that tied him most strongly to the village. Her uncertainty pierced him as her smile wavered and disappeared at his lack of response. Her eyes fell, and she began to gather up her things. Seeing that she was about to leave, Ayu and Kanna also bundled up their work and stood, bidding him farewell before aiding Iori to hobble down the stairs.

Kenshin sat quietly after they left, distressed by the confusion he had seen on Kin's face. How could he explain to her? He could not lie, even if he wanted to. Since childhood, if he tried to lie, his fair skin would proclaim his discomfort as it flushed pink. But to tell the truth could offend…and would sound so vain…He leaned his head back against the wall. He could feel tiredness tugging at him after a night of no sleep; in the heat of the day, it promised sleep--and dreams…

…which he wakened from abruptly, oddly embarrassed to find himself with hand outstretched. He'd been reaching for his father. _So real. So real! But I never heard Okaasan and Otōsan talking about marrying me to Nami, did I? And I was not a child…_

This dream, too, was something strange and different.

He picked up the discarded mat and began where he had left off, his thoughts shifting between the unusual dreams and Chūgo's warning. From the height of the sun, he'd apparently slept away the hour of the Horse. He needed to do something before tomorrow came. He would go speak to Baba-sama; in a matter involving women, she would be a good advisor.

''''''''''''

Yasu lowered her eyes and rested her fingers against her lips, obviously in thought. But she was smiling behind her hand, and her lowered eyes crinkled with the humor of the situation. True, it was unfortunate that Shinta-kun had raised Teppei-kun's ire: who knew what trouble he'd make? And Seiji-san was already so unreasonable about Shinta-kun…

Still, Shinta-kun was so astonished that the girls would have any interest in him! If he had spent his whole time on a mountain with that hermit, it could be understood. But how could he have been in a big city in the midst of soldiers and remained so naïve? Her amusement drained away as she remembered the way his parents had kept him close to the village in fear of the reaction of strangers; how had one so foreign-looking been received by the Shishi? Had he been ostracized? Tormented? Would that explain the shadows in his eyes and the sense she had that there were omissions in his stories?

She was solemn when she looked up. "Daijobu, Himura-san. I don't think it will be too hard. You could speak to Hirō-san and he would understand, but I think it would be best if Noriya goes to both Hirō-san and Motoshi-san. It will save face if he presents it as a matter of maintaining harmony in the village. I will explain the situation to him."

"Dōmo arigatō gozaimashita, Baba-sama." Kenshin paused, but then continued, "And could you speak to Kin-chan for me? I do not wish to hurt her feelings…"

The woman he regarded as his grandmother studied his face, softly remarking, "You were each a lonely child: she had lost her brother and you lost your family… Hai, I will speak to her."

He stayed and visited a while longer, describing for her yet again some of the sights of Kyoto. Her eyes shone and she clapped her hands in pleasure, but when he left, her words of farewell were, "Be careful."

''''''''''''''

**23****rd**** day**

_Another strange dream._ _Did Ojiisan really look like that? Was I even three when he died? How could I remember him? And Shinshu had not even been born yet. Why were they together?_

Kenshin sat up slowly, head hanging and eyes still closed to hold on to the image, and pushed his fingers through tangled hair; apparently he'd been restless in his sleep again. _Restless in my sleep, but reluctant to wake up…_

He would have to get his comb. Regretfully, he opened his eyes and began to rise, only to freeze and then lower himself to a kneeling position, stunned. _ I am awake. I _know_ I am awake. I _know_ they cannot really be here…_

But they _were_ there. True, he no longer saw Ojiisan, but his mother was still clapping and Shinshu was still spinning in circles in the center of the room. They were faint—almost transparent-- and though he knew the song she must be singing, no sound came from Okaasan's moving lips. But they were there. In the house. With him. And he was awake.

He did not move; he barely breathed. And slowly they faded from his sight. Kenshin continued to stare at the place they'd been. Slowly, he raised a hand and rubbed at his moist eyes. How often had he seen his mother and little brother play the same silly game in this very room while they were alive?

Kenshin waited to see if anything else would happen, but the house was still and empty and the sun already lay in bright strips across his floor. He stood and crossed the room to wash his face and comb his hair. Since his dreams had changed, he was waking later even though he was going to bed earlier. A lingering fatigue dogged him throughout each day, urging him to go back and rest. Even now, when he had just arisen, he was tempted to lie down again. Perhaps he had not been as awake as he thought…

He shook his head to clear the last vestiges of his dreams. There was much to do today. As he had for so many years, he pushed the wish for sleep aside and focused on what needed to be done as he dressed and ate. The mat to work on, the field to weed, the floor to wash…ah! and it was definitely time for a long run…

'''''''''''''''

Weeding required no thought. In fact, in some ways it was like wielding a sword: after you did it long enough, somehow what the eyes saw, the hands instantly responded to with no conscious effort. That was good, because then you could distract yourself from the dull ache in your back by concentrating on other things. Unfortunately, the thoughts clamoring inside Kenshin's head just made _it_ ache instead, from frustration.

_Yoshinobu has retired; the castle is in the Emperor's hands. The war should I've fought these people; I know them. I am sure Kondo was killed because he was a man who would not compromise. Some will admire him and follow his path. Others will feel angry and betrayed that the castle was surrendered without a fight. ---Who could have arranged that?--- Many will claim that the Shōgun has been treated unjustly. Instead of the war ending, it could just get worse. I need to find out what is happening. In another week, Keita will be going in to Mitō again. But even if I know, what can I do?_

He finally straightened, closing his eyes and tilting his head back till the sun glared red through his eyelids. His long bangs stuck to his sweaty cheeks, and he rubbed his face with his forearm, dirty water running down and dripping off his elbow, as he tried to push them away without using his muddy hands. He needed to run _now_: a good, long run with nothing in his mind but the rhythm of his steps and the euphoria born of the harmony of muscles, lungs, and heart all working together.

He swished his hands in the water to clean them, and began wading to the edge nearest where Shun and Ichita were working. He would tell them where he was going, and they would tell Noriya. Hopefully, that would be enough to prevent any suspicion of mischief…

He left directly from the fields, running down the road to the next village, then heading up the mountain past the cluster of eta huts. He could not run as fast through the trees, and had to be more careful of where he placed his feet, but that was fine: paying attention to those things prevented him from fretting about the war. He was gone a long time, and it was past dark when he finally called out a greeting at Noriya's steps.

Kin came to the door, the curiosity on her face changing to concern as she realized his dirty and disheveled state.

"Himura-san! Is something wrong?"

Kenshin smiled reassuringly, and was pleased with her answering smile as he answered, "Iie. Daijobu. I've been running. I just needed to let your father know I was back. Would you tell him, please?"

"Won't you please come in? He is here."

"Dōmo, sumimasen. I'm too dirty. But please give your family my greetings. Oyasumi, Kin-chan."

"Oyasumi nasai, Himura-san." Though she drew back into the house, she watched as he turned and made his way home.

Kenshin had barely entered his house and begun to gather what he would need for his bath, when he heard his name called. Walking out, he found Daichi-kun standing in his yard, breathing fast as though he, too, had been running. The boy took a deep breath and bowed.

"Konban-wa, Himura-san! My father has sent me with a message. He had hoped to invite you to eat with him tonight, but you were not home. He asks if it would be possible to have the honor of your presence at the evening meal tomorrow night."

Kenshin was surprised. He had never even spoken to Motoshi-san before. Why would he invite him to dinner? Should he go? There was the problem with his daughter and Teppei-kun… He had just opened his mouth, when Daichi-kun made a face and bowed once again.

"Ano…gomen nasai. I forgot. I'm supposed to tell you that it will just be the two of you. My father has something he wishes to discuss."

Kenshin paused. To refuse the offer when he had eaten with other families could cause Motoshi-san to lose face. And perhaps the man had been offended by Noriya-san's prohibition. If so, he needed to go smooth things over as best he could. He bowed as he replied, "Hai. Arigatō. I am very grateful for his kind invitation. I will be pleased to come."

'''''''''''''''''''

**24****th**** day**

Motoshi-san extended his palm over the table, looking concerned. "Is the food not to your liking? Gomen nasai; my wife is not much of a cook."

Kenshin waved his hand in denial. "Iie. Sumimasen. It is all very good; I am just not accustomed to eating very much."

As Kenshin set down his chopsticks, he looked again at the table covered with dishes; in an effort to be polite, he had sampled a little of everything. Motoshi-san's wife was far from being an indifferent cook. Indeed, the food was excellent, but he had been appalled to see how much had been prepared for just two men. Some of the ingredients must have been relatively expensive, too. In many places such things might be common, but not in a tiny peasant village. The man was obviously trying to impress him: he had managed to make sure that Kenshin was aware of the effort that had been expended on his behalf, all the while apologizing for inadequacy. _At least tomorrow the family can eat what is left. But how much did they spend for this one meal? What does he want?_

They sat in silence as Motoshi-san's wife emerged from the plain screen at the end of the room to remove the dishes and replace them with a bottle of sake and two cups before disappearing once again into the small space. Kenshin wished he could leave, as well. He was not comfortable with his host.

He had wondered about the man: the family, generally, was well-liked, and Motoshi-san acknowledged to be a hard worker—and yet, his name was always spoken in a certain tone… The other men who had moved into the village were not spoken of in the same way, so it was not merely because he had been an outsider. Perhaps he made others uncomfortable, too?

Motoshi-san placed the cup he had filled in front of Kenshin. With a mental sigh, Kenshin filled the other cup for his host. _We've already talked of the weather and how the rice is coming. We've even talked about Daichi-kun's somersaults. Surely he will get to the point now._ Sipping slowly at the harsh liquid, he watched as the older man drained the cup in one large swallow and closed his eyes as though savoring a rare treat before setting it down again in an expectant fashion. Resigning himself, Kenshin filled the little dish again. _I hope he doesn't get drunk before he tells me what this is all about._

"I was a second son," Motoshi-san stated as he picked up the bottle and poured another drink for his reluctant guest, focusing all his attention on the act. "My father was honbyakushō in a village some distance from here. He was an important person there. But both my parents died of the smallpox when my brother and I were in our early twenties."

Kenshin looked at the man's pitted complexion and wondered how many others in that village had died. _Why is he telling me this?_

Motoshi-san glanced up briefly to see if Kenshin was paying attention, and then returned his gaze to the table top. He fidgeted with his sake cup. After a moment of hesitation, Kenshin refilled it. The small bottle was empty now.

This time, Motoshi-san barely tasted it before he resumed his story.

"My father's position went to an older man, but the land passed to my brother. Now I was no longer just a second son; I was my brother's heir. When several years passed without his wife bearing a child, I felt secure enough to marry. And I was able to choose a wife who could bring some money with her. We had been married not quite a year and had just had our first child when my brother's wife died and he remarried. Within the year, he had a son…and I was no longer necessary."

Kenshin shifted slightly on his mat, ill at ease with such personal revelations from a man he had only just met. The story was such as should draw sympathy, but there was something about the way it was told--a sort of whining tone and victimized attitude—that merely embarrassed the listener upon hearing it.

As though sensing Kenshin's thoughts, Motoshi-san drained the remains of the sake with a defiant air and set the cup down with a snap.

"I moved away, but the only place I could find was as mizunomi at Asahi. For years, I barely scraped by—nearly starved. Then, four years ago, we heard that Ichimura had come back to life after its disaster and was willing to take in some new people. With what I had saved by denying myself, and the money from my marriage that I had kept safe, I was finally honbyakushō like my father and brother."

He stared at Kenshin as though waiting for a particular reaction. At a loss, Kenshin bowed his head slightly and said, "You worked hard."

Leaning forward, Motoshi-san rapped the tabletop with his knuckles. "Yes!" he exclaimed earnestly. "When I heard that you, a samurai, had lived here before as a peasant, I knew that you would understand my feelings!"

"Oro?" Mildly alarmed at the older man's vehemence, the exclamation slipped out of Kenshin's mouth before he could stop it. _What is he talking about?!_

"Just as you have returned to this village and enjoy the respect these people must give to your position as samurai under one of our country's leaders, I have worked hard to regain the status I once had, but these people still treat me as an outsider. You have respect, but few comforts; I am comfortable, but have no respect. I would like to suggest a mutually beneficial arrangement…" Motoshi-san wore an expectant smile as he straightened up and rested his hands on his knees, ready to bargain.

Kenshin regarded the man with disbelief. How blind was he to not see that only a few had been welcoming? The vast majority ignored him-even if he was samurai-- as much as possible_. Their respect is no more than the wariness one would give a dog that might bite. And it is your own attitude that sets you apart, I think. The rest of your family fits in smoothly enough._

Without giving him any time to deny interest, his host surged ahead, speaking rapidly: "If you will take my oldest daughter as omekake, you will no longer have to demean yourself with such lowly tasks as washing, cleaning, or cooking. True, she is not as beautiful as many of the women in a town, but she is well enough." He paused with a sly smile. "She will be able to fill _all_ your needs. And if you are seen to give us your favor, the others will have to treat me with more respect."

Revolted at the very thought that a man would sell his daughter in such a fashion, Kenshin struggled to keep his expression calm. Not only was the man his host, but he did not desire to antagonize anyone else in the village…even a man as unsavory as this one had turned out to be.

"I am honored that you would entrust your daughter to me, but I fear you have an inaccurate idea of my importance. I am no more than a low-ranking samurai, no matter who my master is. I have no house, no servant, and no more than 20 koku per year. In this village, I have been an object of suspicion for most of my life; you would gain nothing by allying yourself with me, except, perhaps, more trouble.

"I have grown accustomed to living alone and taking care of myself. I fear the presence of your daughter, admirable though she is, would only make me ill at ease. Also, to be connected with me might very well have an effect opposite of your hopes. Please forgive me, but I must decline your offer."

He had managed to utter his refusal in an unemotional fashion, as though such an offer from a man he didn't know was nothing to be wondered at. He had even managed to answer inoffensively, though the words were sour in his mouth. Surely Motoshi would not pursue the idea any farther.

Indeed, the older man sat silent for a moment, a dissatisfied look on his face. As though trying to change the subject, he offhandedly remarked, "Daichi-kun has enjoyed his lessons." But Kenshin was watching his eyes, and knew what he meant. A muscle flexed in his cheek as he clenched his teeth to keep silent. Still, he matched his gaze with his host's until the other man's eyes shifted away from his stare.

Motoshi was wise enough to let the matter drop, but Kenshin excused himself and left as quickly as possible after the exchange. As he made his way back home, he remembered the silent, unobtrusive woman behind the screen and wondered what she had felt.

''''''''''''''''

**28****th**** day**

"Have you been feeling all right, Kenshin?"

Kenshin looked up from the mat he was finishing. "Nani?"

Naota stilled the languid movement of his fan and looked at his friend in concern. "I asked if you've been feeling all right. It's warmer than it's ever been at this time of year, and you've seemed a little…I don't know…slow? Sometimes it's like you're not really aware of what's going on. Is working in the heat giving you trouble?"

He listened to the whine of a mosquito trying to get through the netting and ran a hand over the straw. _What should I tell Naota? He's not one I can talk to about such things. Perhaps Manabu…_

"Daijobu. There've been several things on my mind lately that have perhaps been too distracting. I apologize if I've offended." _I have to admit, though, tonight I was just tired of listening to gossip._ "I _thought_ it was unusually hot, but then I thought that maybe I just wasn't remembering clearly. I hope no one falls sick."

Naota leaned back and resumed fanning. "Noriya-san is thinking the same thing: there's going to be another trip to Mitō in a few days to pick up a supply of medicine. Keita-san is lucky: he always gets to go since it's his horse that carries everything. Maybe I'll ask to go, too. A visit to town would do me good. Nami is nearly as big as a horse now, and the bigger she gets, the less I feel like riding." He grinned at his own joke, but Kenshin was not amused. When Kenshin showed no response, Naota made a face.

"Ē…jōdan, jōdan! I can feel disapproval coming off you like heat off a fire. Relax! Even if _you_ seem to have no need for a woman, there're those of us who do."

Kenshin remained silent as he carried on with his weaving. He could feel Naota's continued regard. Finally, his friend asked curiously, "Ano…Kenshin…Are you one that likes men?"

"Oro?!" Kenshin's head snapped up in surprise. It was not the question that surprised him so much, but the fact that Naota had actually voiced it. These last years with the Shishi, when most of those who remembered Tomoe were dead, he had known that that was the opinion held. _Trust Naota to have either the courage or lack of sense to ask!_

"Iie," he answered firmly.

"Ah, sō. I just wondered. You seem so stiff when I speak of women, and there's a rumor going around that Motoshi offered Ayu to you…" Naota faltered as Kenshin's expression sharpened, "…and you refused," he finished apologetically.

"Where did you hear that?"

Naota scratched his head uneasily, "Ēto…I'm not really sure. There was a group of us, just talking…"

Kenshin closed his eyes in frustration. _Too late to stop it; Noriya-san will be upset._ Sighing, he went back to work. "Shō ga nai. Do you think there's any chance that Teppei-kun hasn't heard the rumor?"

"Probably not." Naota sat up straight, fan arrested once again. "You mean it's true? Hah! I'm not surprised." He leaned back, a satisfied smirk on his face.

"You will not tell anyone!" Kenshin warned. Naota's face immediately sobered.

"Hai! Not a word," he affirmed. "But to think that you refused Ayu… Ahou!" He shook his head in amazement and then grinned as he prepared to crawl under the netting. "Well, it's late enough I need to go home." He paused and turned at the door. "Better watch your back."

The crickets outside resumed their interrupted song as Kenshin looked down at the mat and set it aside. _One more thing to worry about._ Leaning back against the wall, he closed his eyes. Teppei-kun could definitely be a problem, but that was a minor worry compared to the waking visions that had continued…and his reaction to them. He had told himself repeatedly that what he was seeing was not real and tried his best to ignore it. And yet, to have his family around him again, as though they were sharing his day…? It was too desirable, to easy to let himself be drawn in by the illusions, standing idle and staring, apparently, at nothing.

He removed his outer clothing and folded it neatly at the head of his futon, before lying down. He was ready for the day to end, and tomorrow he would be helping Manabu in the family's field. The fire was long since out and there would be no moon; there was only the dim, flickering glow of the andon making shadows dance along the walls.

It was a warm night, noisy with the sound of crickets and mosquitoes. Kenshin rolled onto his side and lay listening, letting his mind wander. The thought of Naota's outrageous question made him laugh shortly, but it was not from amusement. _Naota would never understand that there is no place for a woman as long as Tomoe is in my thoughts every day. Even if there was, how could I dare even _look_ at another woman after what I have done?_

As guilty as he was, lying there in the dark waiting for sleep to come, he fervently hoped that this night he might dream of Tomoe again…

'''''''''

When he opened his eyes, he was standing next to the screen in the same room that he had seen before. Outside, all was dark and still and empty. Inside, the corner stand still held the sakabatou and the futon was spread once again, but the room was lit and a small table had been added, zabuton on either side as though waiting for someone.

Hope rose within him as he heard the soft ssush of tabi in the other room, and he knelt down on the fine tatami mat, waiting.

The door rattled and slid, and a tray was pushed through, and then she entered. Even though he had been hoping, the sight of her filled him with such emotion that he could barely breathe, and he bowed his head to the floor before he spoke.

"Tomoe…" He could get no farther, all the things he wanted to say caught in the tightness of his throat.

"Kenshin. .."

The low, soft voice came gently to his ears, like a caress, and he dared to look up. She was kneeling at the table, carefully arranging a teapot and two cups. When she was finished, she settled back on her cushion and tucked her nemaki around her legs.

"Sumimasen. Kenshin, the tea is ready."

Disconcerted, Kenshin rose hesitantly and joined her at the table, finding it hard to look her in the eyes. He glanced back to the open door, noticing suddenly that the design of the screen was the same as the one that had burnt with the house at Otsu. Startled, his eyes flew back to Tomoe and connected with her calm gaze.

"Yes," she remarked as she lifted her cup to her mouth.

His disorientation complete, Kenshin stared at her as she sipped. He _felt_ _awake_; he remembered all the things he had done that day, the conversations he had had, the worries that had troubled him…_How can I remember everything and still be dreaming? But if I am not dreaming, how can Tomoe be here? Where am I?_

"It doesn't really matter," she said. Had he actually spoken out loud? Or had she read his thoughts?

"Dōzo, drink your tea before it gets cold."

The way she spoke, it could've been any winter day in Otsu, coming in from the snow…

"Why am I here?" Much as he had longed for it, he did not deserve to be with her. How could she endure his presence?

"Because you are my husband." One slim hand lightly touched his as he clutched the tea cup tightly.

"But you…Kiyosato…"

Her hands settled in her lap and she looked down at them, a long black ribbon of hair falling forward, framing her pale cheek. "I loved Kiyosato-san in the innocence of sheltered ignorance. Once I left home, I learned what the world is really like; I changed. He would not care for me now: I am no longer the girl he knew. And he is no more than a dear memory to me..."

Raising her head, her eyes met his directly. "You changed the world that I lived in. It is to _you_ that I chose to make the vow of two worlds."

Her words were so far from anything that he had expected, or hoped, that Kenshin sat staring at her, trying to understand what she had said. When he did not respond, she rose and quietly cleared the table, returning to move unhurriedly about the room blowing out the lights, save for the single andon in the corner.

He got to his feet when she returned to his side, the one question clear in his mind issuing abruptly from his lips: "How can you forgive me? I killed you!"

The corners of her mouth just barely turned up in the faintest of smiles, as though amused at the incongruity of his words when she was standing right in front of him. It was fleeting, as her gaze shifted to his scarred cheek and she tentatively lifted a hand to trace with one nail the line she had cut years before.

"When they brought me Kiyosato-san's tanto, I swore that even if I died, I would use it to cut his assassin…" her voice trailed off sadly, and they stood for a heartbeat, frozen in place. Then her hand dropped, and she moved behind him, beginning to undo his obi in a wifely manner.

It was all too much for Kenshin. He stood, dazed and confused, as she slid the kimono from his shoulders and folded it neatly, setting it next to hers in the tray at the head of the futon. _Had_ she forgiven him? She had ignored his attempt when he had knelt, and she had not answered his questions. But the things she _did_ say…

Crawling onto the futon, she held out a hand to him where he stood feeling uncertain and vulnerable. "Come, Kenshin, you need to rest."

Hesitantly, he joined her under the covers, facing her as she lay on her side, watching him. Silently, they studied each other. He wondered what she saw in his face. As for him, she looked no different than the last night he had seen her in life, save for one important difference: her cheeks were not tear-streaked. His eyes met hers, and he found himself sinking into the blackness, just as he had from the very first moment he saw her.

"Okaeri," she whispered. He closed his eyes for a moment, to hide the instant welling of tears._ If only this were not a dream…_ The cool touch of her fingers burned into his heart as they settled over the scar on his chest. "The saya has no purpose without the sakabatou."

Opening his eyes, he gathered her into his arms.

"Tadaima."


	14. Chapter 14 Ripples of the Yellow Stream

**I'm glad so many of you like the villagers. They, of course, are the characters that I can claim as my own. Kenshin, Tomoe, and Shishou (Hiko) are Watsuki's and the various giant corporations. And Katsura/Kido is historical.**

***Some people are asking me questions in their reviews, but not leaving any way for me to contact them. If you want to ask me something, please make sure that you either sign in, or PM me so that I have an email address to respond to.**

The basic outline for the whole "Ripples of the Yellow Stream" chapter was in my head 2 years ago. Once I began writing it, it dawned on me that one of my favorite songs—Heart's "These Dreams"—fits it very well…

About the date: Japan followed a lunar calendar. To make it come out right, they occasionally stuck in an extra month, called an 'intercalary month.' They were not always inserted at the same time of year. In 1868, the extra month fell between the 4th and 5th month. That is why the date in the story shows as 'I4.' It ran from May 22 to June 19.

About the punishment: it's very likely that the whole 5-man group would be given the same punishment, but I have taken artistic license to make the actual perpetrator of the offense get a harsher punishment than the rest of his group

**Quick who's who—**Seiji (who hates Kenshin's family) is father to 1) Daigo 2) Chūgo 3) son in the army 4) Teppei (who is smitten with Ayu, who is Motoshi's daughter). Honomi is Manabu's wife; Nami is their oldest daughter who is Naota's wife. Maruko is Naota's mother. Yui is Kanna's mother and Honomi's friend. The rest I think you'll remember.

**Vocab: **wa—unity, harmony, wholeness

chikushō—Those who know that I do not 'swear,' may be startled to find me using this term. However, although it is commonly used as a

harsh expletive, it's literal meaning is 'beast/repulsive person or thing'

bakayarou—'you fool'; jerk

irori—pit hearth

obake—ghosts

sotoba—long wooden sticks carved or painted with the deceased's name, added to a grave on various occasions

hashi—chopsticks

Oyasumi nasai--goodnight

''''''''''''''''''''

**Ripples, Pt. 4**

**2****nd**** day, I4 month**

It was a little over a week since he had last dreamed of Tomoe, despite his nightly hopes. He did his best to keep busy each day, trying to make the time pass faster as he waited for the night. Her voice, her touch… the warmth of her body …still filled his thoughts so completely that the problems with Motoshi-san and Teppei-kun were nearly forgotten. And always, his mind returned to her words, picking them apart and examining them for every possible meaning. Even now, though his eyes were focused on the path before him, the only thing he saw was Tomoe; the only thing he heard was her voice, as her eyes met his: "You changed the world that I lived in…"

Long ago, he would have been fortunate if such carelessness had earned him no more than a harsh blow with the flat of Shishou's blade; in Kyōto, such inattention would have left him dead at the feet of one of those two Wolves of Mibu. As it was, he became aware of his assailant just in time to turn and bend far back to avoid the bō sweeping towards him on a path that would break an arm and crack his ribs. Had the swing caught him, it would've only been what he deserved: as soon as Naota had told him of the rumors, he had known that eventually there would be trouble. The shock of being caught at such a disadvantage snapped his mind back into focus; he could imagine Shishou's snarl at his stupidity.

"Teppei-san!"

The young man ignored him, changing the arc and looping into a return pass that would've dropped him to the ground with broken legs if he had not gone from bend to backflip, landing out of reach of the heavy stick.

"There is no need for this! I have no intentions towards Ayu-san."

Rather than calming his opponent, Kenshin's words seemed to only enrage him further.

"Don't speak of her! Her father _offers_ her to you, and you _reject_ her?"

_Oro? He's angry that I_ didn't_ take her? _As Teppei followed him with an overhead strike, Kenshin shifted aside. Teppei was quick and strong, but easy to read.

"You think you are so much better than the rest of us! You're nothing! Your family was nothing but outsiders!" the young man snarled, his face flushed with both anger and exertion.

The staff rushed up from the ground at an angle. Kenshin swayed aside once more, striking the bō hard with his hand, sending it off-course. Teppei recovered, pausing for the barest second. _I need to end this quickly; I do not want to hurt Teppei-kun…_

A shift of weight warned Kenshin of his opponent's intention and he was prepared as the weapon surged towards his chest in a sharp thrust. His brain registered a young voice calling his name in alarm, and as he grabbed the end of the stick shooting towards him, pushing it back hard to loosen Teppei's grip and set him off balance, he spared a glance to the side. Standing round-eyed at the foot of the path was Norikazu.

Teppei staggered. Yanking the bō out of his adversary's grasp, Kenshin used it for a chest-thrust of his own, checking the momentum as soon as it struck its target. Teppei sprawled on his back, struggling for breath. Kenshin stood over him, the bō resting at Teppei's throat. The young man stared up at his rival, the frustration and shock in his eyes slowly changing to horror.

Kenshin returned the stare and spoke reflectively, "I have never understood why your family hates mine so much…" He shook his head. "This fight was completely unnecessary: I feel nothing but friendship for any of the women here. You can stop worrying." Removing the staff from its threatening position, he stepped aside and turned towards Norikazu, speaking over his shoulder to his vanquished foe. "Go. And don't do anything else that could ruin your family."

Behind him, Kenshin could hear Teppei scrambling to his feet…feel the resentment burning in him. Holding himself ready in case the young man was foolish enough to attack again, Kenshin was relieved to hear him stumbling away instead. Sighing, he mentally cursed Norikazu's presence. _Why does there have to be a witness?_

"Daijobu, Norikazu-kun. Teppei-kun's only bruised and winded."

The boy stood rooted to the ground, shaking his head in distress. "But…but…_ he attacked a samurai! _You had no weapon and he attacked anyway! I _have_ to tell Otōsan what I saw… Teppei-san could be executed!"

"Daijobu," Kenshin repeated. "Do whatever you need to do. I'll talk to your father. Teppei-kun will have to accept whatever punishment he orders, but as long as I do not complain to someone higher, it should go no further."

Norikazu continued to look troubled, but made no protest as Kenshin gave him a little push to start him walking down towards the stream.

"Why were you here?"

"Ah…Tōsan sent me to find you, and Rishou-san said he thought you might be up here. Tōsan wants to talk to you."

_What would he want me for now? If he were angry about the rumors, wouldn't he have talked to me before now? Or would he have thought that acting concerned would just confirm them? Is there something else I've done?_

"Ano…do you know why he needs me, Norikazu-kun?"

"Iie. He just asked me to find you and tell you to come." The boy looked up at him and spoke reassuringly, "He didn't look angry or anything. And he wants you to come to the house door instead of the business door."

Startled by Norikazu's perception, Kenshin laughed ruefully and tousled his young friend's hair. "Sō ka? Then I won't worry."

They walked in companionable silence till they reached the crossing and exchanged greetings with the women that were busy washing or bathing children. As they started up the path to the houses, Kenshin waved aside the swarming gnats and asked, "Does it seem as though your father wants me right away, or can I clean up first?"

Norikazu thought for a moment, a serious expression on his face, and then looked up, answering in a very adult manner: "I think it would be fine if I just went ahead and told him you were coming." And then his expression changed to a grin. "We're going to have dinner early today and then work till dark. If you come soon and are clean, Obaasan will probably ask you to stay to eat with us."

"Ah, sō. I'll have to hurry then."

Norikazu laughed, but then fell silent. After a moment, he spoke, "When I get home, I'll tell Tōsan what Teppei-san did. It wasn't right and he shouldn't get away with it, even if you're not hurt."

"Do what you feel is right."

Nothing more was said as they parted at Kenshin's open gate. Norikazu continued homeward, and Kenshin went up his steps, reflecting that when the time came, Norikazu would make a good shoya.

As suggested, Kenshin washed and changed quickly, curious to find out why he was wanted, and hopeful of downplaying Teppei's offense. When he arrived, Kin ushered him in with a smile and led him to the door of the small room Noriya used for business. She knelt and called to her father.

"Otōsan? Himura-san is here now." At her father's command, she slid open the door and motioned for him to enter, closing it quietly after he passed through.

Noriya was sitting at a small desk, papers scattered around him, writing brush still in his hand. He carefully wiped it clean and set it down.

"I sent Norikazu to find you because I thought you would be interested to know that I received a letter from your lord inquiring if you were still here."

"Is there something wrong? Does he have need of me?" Kenshin leaned forward, mixed emotions warring inside. _He knows_ _that I have sworn not to kill again. Why would he need me, if not to fight?_..._But I would be in the middle of things again. I would know what happens and why._

"He does not say. He merely asks me to inform him whether or not you are still here, and if you are, to let you know that if you wish to contact him, he is currently in Ōsaka, but may have to make a trip to Chōshū soon. There is nothing else. You may read it if you want."

Kenshin took the proffered paper. At the sight of the elegant script, still as familiar as his own scrawl, he felt a pang of loss. Skimming the sheet, he found it to be just as Noriya-shoya had said: no mention was made of recalling him or inquiring after his welfare. He handed back the letter, relieved that there would be no temptation to break his vow…but also perversely dissatisfied that he was not, in fact, needed by Katsu—_Kido-_sensei.

His introspection was disturbed by Noriya's stern tones. "About this other matter…

He bowed his head in remorse. "Gomen nasai. If I had been paying attention, it would not have happened. Or if I had been able to reassure him sufficiently…"

"_IF._ If Teppei-kun weren't such an idiot as to listen to rumors. If Seiji-san did not constantly complain about you, to make him think he could behave in such a fashion. If Motoshi-san wasn't such an idiot as to make the offer in the first place. He did, didn't he?" the older man growled impatiently. "Or you! If you would only…!" Noriya stopped abruptly and looked down, scrubbing at his bristly hair in vexation.

"Moshiwake arimasen," Kenshin bowed again, humbly.

Noriya expelled a tired sigh and straightened up. "Sō. It does no good to speak of 'ifs.' Between you all, you have disturbed the _wa_ of the village."

A light rap made him pause. "Hai?" The door slid open a little ways to reveal Norikazu.

"Otōsan, Teppei-san isn't with any of his family, so I told them to make sure he comes to see you when he gets home, like you said. And Obaasan asks that Himura-san stay and eat with us."

"Fine. Dōmo. Now go help the women get things ready." He waved his son away, and the door slid softly closed.

"If Teppei-kun does not return tonight, it will be one more wrong to add to the total. I cannot hide the fact that something has happened. The very bushes have ears; you should already know that! If I do not treat these matters seriously, we could _all_ be in trouble if an official hears of it. I beg you, _please _remember what you are and watch your actions more closely."

With that, Noriya stood to end the interview, and they both went out to eat a dinner for which neither of them had any appetite.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

**3****rd**** day, I4 month**

It was a miserable, difficult day for everyone. When Teppei-kun still had not appeared by morning, Noriya-san called everyone together. As he explained what had happened and sent out the men of Teppei-kun's group to search for him, he watched the unity of his village crumble. Unsettled, the villagers clustered together, gradually shifting into groups as they talked and fretted. A space appeared around Motoshi-san's family as doubtful glances were cast their way. Whether or not the rumors had been true, the family had caused trouble…A female group had formed around the women of Teppei-kun's family, reassuring them. Himura-san stood at the far edge, alone, and finally turned and walked away, unaware that Manabu had been moving towards him.

Teppei-kun came back before the men did-- appearing dirty, sweaty, and disheveled at Noriya-san's door-- and was held in isolation until they returned. Seiji-san demanded to see his son, who knelt abjectly before him when he entered. Staring down, cold-faced and silent, Seiji-san finally grated out, "Bakayarou! You've shamed us all! You no longer belong in my house!" and stalked out, accompanied by his oldest son. Chūgo lingered just long enough to say, "You can come to me," before following the others.

The afternoon found everyone gathered once again, this time to witness the sentencing and punishment. Noriya-san was dressed formally and stood with the village elders next to him. Kenshin stood to the side, tense, but impassive. Before them knelt Teppei-kun, as well as Seiji, Daigo, Chūgo, Makio, and Tomamichi. The villagers stood in silence, save for the cry of a baby and the swiftly shushed question of a child, listening as the men were rebuked for allowing such behaviour from one of their group and given the duty of cleaning out the privies for three weeks.

Teppei-kun was sentenced to 15 blows from a bamboo rod for having assaulted a samurai. Kenshin watched it all: watched the skin break and blood run down the young man's back, watched it run down his chin as he bit his lip to keep from crying out, watched tears run down Nonoe's and Sakura's and little Hisa's face, watched the eyes that looked back at him with fear or anger or disbelief. When it was over, he went back home, alone again, feeling ill that he had been the cause of it all.

He kept to his house the rest of the day, wrestling with his situation. As Noriya-san had said, dwelling on 'if only' was useless. Nor would he let himself be comforted by the phantoms that he knew would appear if he paused or allowed thoughts of his family to creep in. Neither would he think of Tomoe. He would not seek excuses or escape. He cleaned his floor, patched his hakama where the material had worn through, hung the straw mats over the windows. It was a hot, sticky day. The humidity was increasing; soon the rains would come. But his mind was not on his work.

_Should I leave? I've caused nothing but trouble since I came, and I contribute very little towards the village's welfare. If I am going to leave, I need to tell Noriya-san before he writes to Kido-sensei. But I don't want to leave Manabu-san and his family, or Babasama, or Kin-chan. I promised to help Manabu with his fields. And there's the death anniversary and Obon…_

His thoughts circled, wavering between leaving and staying, but were finally interrupted by a voice in his yard.

"Oi! Kenshin!" Rapid steps thudded up his stairs and Naota burst into his house with nothing more than a token "Sumimasen" before demanding "What happened? Keita-san and I just returned, and the first thing I hear is that that hot-headed fool Teppei-kun attacked you and got caned for it! What happened?!

Kenshin met his friend's angry eyes without flinching. "It was my fault. He came up behind me as I came down the mountain. If I'd been paying attention, it wouldn't have happened. Norikazu-kun had been sent to find me and was a witness, so I couldn't keep it secret. And Noriya-shoya wouldn't consider a lesser punishment."

If anything, his words seemed to make Naota angrier. "He deserved it! He's an idiot! That whole family is, except Chūgo!" He leaned back against the wall, looking suddenly tired, and scrubbed at his face with one hand, before opening his eyes and looking at Kenshin with exasperation. "Stop worrying about him. You've always worried about other people too much. Chikushō, Kenshin! Worry about yourself!"

He sat down, becoming aware of the paper he held in his hand and thrusting it at Kenshin. "Here. Keita-san said to give you this." Before Kenshin could thank him, Naota continued on. "You said it was your fault. You're right: it _is_ your fault. But not the way you mean… It's your fault for pretending to be something you're not."

"Oro? I haven't _pretended_ anything. Noriya-san received confirmation--" Kenshin protested, confused and irritated.

"Fine. You _aren't_ pretending_._ But what samurai washes his clothes at the stream with the women? What samurai cleans privies? What samurai teaches children the tricks of street performers? Hontō ni, Kenshin, I have no idea why you came back; no one else does either. I think most of them think that you were so useless that you were sent back and that your lord doesn't care where you go as long as you don't make trouble.

"You're not a peasant, but you don't act like a samurai. No one knows how to treat you! Do you think Motoshi-san would've been so bold as to make that offer to any of the samurai around here? Would Teppei-kun have dared to strike one?

"It's your fault. If you're really a samurai, act like one. Don't let me make jokes about you. Don't try to be one of us. You aren't, anymore." With that, Naota stood up and looked back down at his speechless friend. "I'm sorry, but it's true. Stop trying to please everyone else and just be what you are."

Face flushed, he gave an abrupt bow before striding out the door, leaving a stunned Kenshin behind. In the sudden silence, Naota's words echoed in his head and he covered his face with his hands before running them through his hair, grabbing it in painful fistfuls to try and distract himself from the ache in his heart. _Be what I am? That's what I was doing! But __**what**__ am I? I'm too much a peasant for the samurai, and too much a samurai for the peasants. Not good enough to satisfy Shishou, but too good for the Shishi to accept me. Only my family…_

He opened his eyes and laughed without humor to find his father sitting next to him at the irori, carving a cup while his mother watched with smiling eyes from the other side. _Only my family. And Tomoe?_

Defiantly, he sat and watched the domestic scene unfold before him without turning away or chiding himself. By the time their images gradually faded, he had decided: he would still work the fields for Manabu, still fulfill his duties as one of the five-man group, but he would stay only until he could observe his parents' death anniversary properly. And since he had caused so much difficulty, he would keep to himself as much as possible until that time. He wouldn't be lonely, because his family would be with him…and, perhaps, Tomoe might be there, too.

Rising, he moved towards the netting to unfold his futon, only then noticing the paper that he still held. It was another of the news-papers that Keita had been bringing him. He knelt before the andon, the characters dimming and shifting as he read in the unsteady light. The major news was of a fierce battle fought at Ueno, even though Edo Castle was in the hands of the Emperor's troops under Prince Taruhito. _So the fighting has not lessened. To keep fighting even after the Shōgun has retired…there is no excuse for them now, and the Emperor cannot leave them unpunished. Have all our efforts done nothing but tear the country apart?_

A single article gave him hope, though it had been written in indignation at the break in tradition: a commoner had been allowed into the Divine Presence--an unheard of thing! If they could survive the war, perhaps the changes he had fought for _would_ be possible.

Sighing, he set the paper down and crawled under the netting, spreading out the futon and laying down. The night was dark outside the window, vague through the netting. He could hear the kittens for the first time in several nights, but did not feel like moving both bed and netting, especially since the whine of mosquitoes was louder than their mewing. He lay still, waiting for sleep to come and bring him dreams…

''''''''''''''''

**16****th**** day, I4 month**

"I hear that Kyouji-kun has a fever…"

The light rain was a steady patter in the yard as Yui passed the warp through the heddles so that Honomi could tie it down on the front beam of the loom.

"Aa. But so far it doesn't seem to be anything more than that. O-Ine-san has hurt so much these last few days that she sent Kin over to look at him. Whatever Kin-chan told her, she didn't think it was bad enough to go herself. She just sent over some medicine to drink."

"Sō ka? Then it is Kin-chan she's decided to train?" Yui asked with interest.

"It appears so." Honomi paused, considering. "Of our young women, she's spent the most time with O-Ine-san and gets along the best with her. She appears to have learned a little already. She came with O-Ine-san when Nami started bleeding."

"How is Nami-chan now? Has it stopped?"

A shadow passed across Honomi's face. "She seems to be fine as long as she stays in bed. O-Ine-san says that it's because she's so big. I worry though. O-Ine-san didn't say anything more, but she looked troubled when she left."

"She was probably worried about what Maruko would do…"

"Oh, Maruko's been good. As long as Naota-kun's heir may be in danger, it doesn't matter if Nami can't work."

Yui looked at her friend in concern: such bitter words were unusual. Sighing, she remarked, "It seems as though every day has been unfortunate these last couple of weeks. First, Teppei-kun's attack on Himura-san and the rift with his father, then Nami-chan, and now Kyouji-kun. The last time I saw him in the field, Himura-san didn't look too well, either."

Honomi left the strands of thread hanging and sat down where she stood, looking out the open door to the yard spotted with puddles. "That one…was there ever such an unlucky child? He's grown so thin! Yasu-san and I have both asked him to come eat with our families, but he has only come once."

Yui came and sat by her friend, asking, "He _is_ thin. Is he sick? When I saw him, he seemed a little dazed: he was just standing and staring."

Dipping her head, Honomi rocked a little, "Ano…if it should be heard…"

Startled, Yui glanced around at the empty room, and then lowered her head, too. Softly, she promised, "I'll keep silent. You know that we're also his friends."

Without raising her head, Honomi spoke barely above a whisper. "He told my husband that he sees…his family. In his house; in the fields; when he sleeps."

Shocked, Yui hung her hands as she exclaimed, "Obake?"

"Shh!...I don't know. He says they don't speak to him, or try to harm him. They just do ordinary things, as though they were still here and alive. He watches them. I think he forgets to eat. Or maybe he just doesn't feel like it…who would, with their dead all around them?"

"Do you think he has lost his mind? Or is cursed?"

"I don't know. If you get his attention and talk to him, he seems perfectly normal. But what if they _are_ obake and have come for him? Manabu-san is no help! He just says 'Maybe his family misses him as much as he misses them. Let him deal with it. Only he knows what is best for him.' …Sometimes I don't understand my husband at all! I _know_ he must be worried, too… "

Tears of frustration rose in Honomi's eyes as she and Yui just looked at each other, silenced by the knowledge that there truly was nothing they could do.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

**29****th**** day, I4 month**

Kenshin flipped the clothes over so that they could finish drying. They would smell of wood smoke, but then, at this time of year everything and everyone did. It was either that, or mildew. He looked up towards the ceiling, where the smoke drifted, prevented from rising through the roof's vent by the heavy rain outside; it was almost as if the clouds had found their way inside his house.

If the rain were not so heavy, he would go out and run. He was tempted to do it anyway, but restlessness was not a good enough reason to risk the danger of footing that might slide right out from under you. He could make dinner, but he had not exerted himself enough to work up an appetite. He was tired, but it was only the fatigue of sitting all day.

He picked up the piece of wood he had been carving and ran his finger along the characters he had roughed out. He had only 12 more days until his family's death anniversary in which to finish the sotoba. He looked up, and, as expected, images shaped themselves in front of him until he could see his sister bouncing their youngest brother on her lap. His hand tightened on the sotoba; it was Aiko's name he was carving now…

Kenshin set the knife down and contemplated the scene before him. In the last several weeks, he had become accustomed to his family's company in almost everything he did. It had gone from alarming to comforting to disappointing to…he wasn't sure…

He couldn't speak with them. He had tried, once he got over the shock of their visitations: telling his parents about his life, confessing how much he missed them all. But there was no response. If they looked towards him, he did not feel that they saw him. They did not interact with him in any way, didn't do anything different, only re-enacted the past in front of him. He still spoke to them occasionally, to break the silence. But in the end, his family had not really come back…it was only his memories, playing out in front of his eyes rather than behind them. At least now the scenes were pleasant ones…

Which led his thoughts to the last time he had been with Tomoe… two weeks ago, now: it had been the night of the full moon. The truth of his visions had finally sunk in, and he had felt particularly lonely. As though she knew, when he found himself in the timeless room again, Tomoe had taken his hand and led him to their futon.

But afterwards, when he was lying in her arms, breathing the scent of white plum and feeling drowsy and spent, there was still uncertainty. Did she love him? He had read her diary after her death. Last time, she had actually said she had chosen him. And yet, she had also said that he had changed her world—to one where she was no longer innocent. She had never said she had forgiven him. Should he ask? Would it do any good?

Her voice stilled his thoughts, her breath stirring his hair, her voice slow and a little husky in the dark. He believed, at first, that she was murmuring in her sleep, but then her words became clearer. "…love and hate and guilt; I think they must be more powerful than anything else in the world. They can influence people more than power or wealth; they can destroy dynasties; they can turn a man into a hero or villain. They bind souls to souls. I think those feelings are the source of immortality: if the dead were forgotten by the living, they would cease to exist."

In the end, he had said nothing, letting her think that he was asleep. He would rather live in uncertainty and hope than risk possible despair.

A piece of wood in the fire popped loudly, and woke him from his reverie. He rose to his feet and stretched, still unsettled by the thought of that night. Wandering outside, he leaned against a post, watching the sheets of rain. The night was black. Though there would be no moon anyway, tonight the clouds had smothered even the stars' light. Most of the houses were dark now, but a glow came from Manabu-san's doorway. _It's late for them to be up. I hope nothing is wrong…_

Kenshin had only been to their house once since Teppei-kun's caning, when Manabu-san's wife had urged him to come to dinner. She had pushed him so strongly to accept that he had given in against his better judgment. Since then, he had strengthened his resolve. Still, standing here now, in the dark and the rain, his self-imposed isolation weighed heavily upon him. He missed their ready acceptance. He missed the laughter and teasing that drew him out of himself and let him be cheerful.

Sighing, he turned back inside. He may as well go to bed…

''''''''

Tomoe was setting food on the table. "Okaeri," she greeted him without looking up. "Dōzo, come sit and we'll eat."

"Tadaima." Kenshin did not immediately move, but instead studied her carefully. Her movements were smooth and unhurried, her face serene but unsmiling. In these strange dreams, her actions were those of a perfect wife. But what did she feel? Even if it were nothing more than a dream, he wished her to be happy. _Could _she be happy? Could he?

At his hesitation, she regarded him with concern, "Is there something wrong? Don't you wish to eat?"

"Iie." He joined her at the table and sat down. "I was just distracted for a moment."

The room was silent except for the click of hashi against the dishes. Kenshin had noticed before that within the room there were never any outside noises: no sound of wind or rain, dogs or people. As he ate a pickle, he gazed at his wife from behind his bangs. _Perhaps happiness is too much to expect…_He set down his bowl and hashi, and braced himself to speak.

"Husband, you need to eat more; you've lost weight." She reached out to pick up his bowl and refill it, but he grasped her wrist, preventing her. He felt a chill at his temerity: he had never touched his wife without her making the first move. She cocked her head slightly and looked at him curiously.

"Tomoe, are you…" he groped for the right words, "…at peace?"

Without shifting her eyes from his, she turned her wrist slightly and slid it from his grasp. He did not try to recapture it. She studied him silently for what seemed like an eternity, finally answering.

"I will be. You need to continue what you began…for both our sakes."

With those words, she rose. "Please, Kenshin, eat some more and go to bed. I'll clean up later. There are things that I need to do…" She moved quickly to the inner door, kneeling and bowing just a little as she left. "Oyasumi nasai."

Left alone, he forced himself to finish his meal. By the time he was done, he felt surprisingly tired. Following Tomoe's instructions, he crawled into bed and was soundly asleep almost immediately.

It seemed as though he had just shut his eyes, when he felt a hand on his shoulder and heard Tomoe's voice:

"Kenshin, you've rested long enough. You're needed. Wake up!"


	15. Chapter 15 Tsuyu, Pt1plus

Well, I'm finally back, after battling with dialogue as well as wasting a lot of time. Those of you who read the old chapter 15, pt 1, can skip on down to where Hiroe shows up, to pick up the addition.

**Kenshin is still Watsuki's property. Katsura and Raikichi and other names are historical...All the villagers (and Kenshin's family's names) are mine**.

Vocab: Kago-basically a large basket carried on two poles, used for transporting people

Tango no Sekku-Boy's Day, nowadays. It was held on the fifth day of the fifth month, so we're used to it being May 5th, but since Japan at this time is using a lunar calendar-plus an extra, inserted month-Fifth Month in 1868 runs from June 20th to July 19th, Western calendar.

Koi Nobori-the carp banners that are flown on Boy's Day

chimaki-a type of sweet

Eta-the casteless, outcast people that dealt with dead things and jobs no one else would touch

There's another little author's note at the end...

'''''''''''''''''

**Tsuyu, Pt. 1+  
**

1st day, 5th month

Kenshin woke immediately, years of alarms raising him to his knees and sending his hand out to the edge of the futon to grasp a sword that was not there. At the same moment, he realized that he was still in his own house. It was day, dim with clouds and already humid. There was no unusual clamor outside, just the desultory chirp of a bird. How late was it? Judging from the way he felt, it could not be too much later than he usually got up. He drew a deep breath and expelled it slowly, letting his muscles relax; he could feel no threat. It had been nothing more, then, than the remnant of one of his 'real' dreams. He rose and washed, and clothed himself for the day.

As he moved through his morning routine, Tomoe's call continued to echo at the back of his mind: "You're needed. Wake up!" Though it had been a dream, the adrenaline from his abrupt awakening lingered. Everything seemed normal, but apprehension nagged at him anyway. He sat on his steps eating his morning bowl of barley, uneasy, waiting to see if something would happen after all.

The last bit was almost to his lips, when the subtle difference finally registered. He scanned the empty yard, then hastily turned and looked at the empty room behind him. They were gone. For the last month or more, there had never been a space of time this long without some member of his family appearing. Now, no one was there. Despite the certainty that they were merely his memories incredibly made manifest, he felt suddenly bereft.

He sat, staring into his empty house. It began to rain. Nothing changed inside; no one appeared; the room's silence had a strange finality to it. Were they gone for good?

Should he be relieved that the phantoms were gone? Shouldn't he be desolate at having his family leave him again?

Hesitantly, cautiously, Kenshin closed his eyes and probed the internal defenses he'd raised so long ago in an attempt to shield his battered heart. Sorrow welled up, and he pressed his hand hard to his chest as the ache grew stronger and tears streamed down his face. He let the emotion engulf him. His grief was just as deep, yet seemed more bearable now. Had the overwhelming horror of his family's death somehow been tempered by the ordinary scenes played out before him for the last month? Was that why they had come?

Drawing in a shaky breath, Kenshin opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was his improvised altar. He had said so many prayers…had his family truly heard him? The thought of such a possibility moved him to kneel before his family's scroll and offer up thanks that they had not forgotten him.

Rising, he picked up his hoe and went down the steps, out into the drizzle and the new day, only to have Tomoe's words brought back to him sharply as he stepped into the street and saw a messenger –the han's emblem on the banner at his back- trotting towards Noriya-shoya's house.

""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

5th day, 5th month

The message had come as a shock to the village. They were so small to begin with, that with two sons already gone off to the wars, they considered themselves safe. How could the han ask for one more…especially after raising the levy on their rice? Any loss of manpower would be a hardship. For the last three days, almost the sole topic of conversation was "Who to send?" Several mentioned Kenshin, but knew it was just wishful thinking: only his lord could send him. The lot finally fell on Teppei, the oldest of the 'extra' sons that could be considered as adults. Keita, who had volunteered to go but been overruled by the elders, would keep him company as far as Mitō.

He was nearly ready to leave; preparations didn't take long when all you owned was a single change of clothes, a bowl, and hashi. His mother had brought some dried fish when she managed to sneak over the night before. Teppei slung his bundle over his shoulder and turned to where Chūgo stood, awkward with emotion.

"Thank you for taking care of me."

His brother grabbed him, pulling him into a rare embrace. Chūgo's voice was hoarse as he said, "Now this war has taken two of my brothers. Make sure you come home. Tōsan won't stay angry forever."

Teppei laughed uncertainly, "Iie. We both know what he is. It's good that I'm leaving…"

Pushing his brother to arms' length, Chūgo gave him a shake. "You _will_ come back! Don't even _think_ otherwise. This is your home!"

Dipping his head in acquiescence, Teppei slipped from his brother's grasp and walked to the door, where he turned and bowed to his brother and silent sister-in-law. "I'll try to send letters… Sayonara." He hurried down the steps, unwilling to let his brother see the tears that were welling up in his eyes. He didn't want anyone else to see him, either, until he recovered his composure, so he cut through the yard to go out the back gate as he heard his brother coming out the door.

"Teppei-kun!" his brother called, but he did not turn around. Instead, he sped up until the bushes hid him from view. Once out of sight, he slowed. It was hard to move his feet when he knew that every step took him closer to leaving…to joining the army…maybe even to death…

His slow steps took him to the edge of Noriya-shoya's yard. Teppei paused; once he moved away from the screen provided by the fence and trees, he would be visible to anyone waiting to see him off. He could already hear a mixed babble of voices…

As he worked to assume an air of nonchalance, he realized that one set of voices was near enough that he could hear them clearly, despite their lowered tones. Someone must be just around the corner, hidden from him by the same trees that he was hiding behind.

"…usually set to work with the animals, or general work, but if he's that good…"

"Hai, he's one of the best in the village, for all he's just 17. He would probably do well with naginata. It would be foolish if they didn't make use of his ability. But then, if guns are the main weapon- they might be more reluctant to let a peasant use one of those. In any case, things are slow enough here right now that I'll stay as close to him as I can till they reach Yamaguchi. Or that's my plan right now; if they try to press me back into the army, it may have to change."

It was Keita-san, talking about him! But who was he talking to? He had thought that only Chūgo-nii and Kaasan really cared about what happened to him, but here was Keita-san and someone else discussing his welfare…

There was a faint 'chink'—as though money was changing hands—and then the vaguely familiar voice spoke again.

"Take it, take it. You know what rations are like. Here, even when we're eating barley or millet, at least there's usually a vegetable or two. And you'll have to provide your own food while you're following. This is the only way I can help. When you part, give him whatever amount you think is safe."

"Himura-san…"

It was the samurai? Why should the samurai care what happened to him? Wasn't Himura the source of all his problems to begin with? He felt the urge to rush out and yell at the man, throw his money in his face- Teppei took a deep breath and forced his anger down. If he did such a thing, he'd only get in trouble again. All he had to do was stay calm until they had left the village. If Keita-san tried to use the money on his behalf, he could refuse.

He turned and went around the other corner, only to find that most of the village had gathered to see him off. Yataka, Iori, and Norikazu stood on the fringes. Norikazu was talking excitedly; the other two stood stiffly, nodding occasionally at whatever he was saying, but not looking at each other. By chance, Yataka's gaze met Teppei's eyes and he shifted uncomfortably, his expression a mixture of relief and pity.

Teppei clenched his hands as he stared at his long-time rival; how _dare_ Yataka pity him? That inept lump? But before he could do anything, his oldest sister Kako and her husband came up to him, and she thrust a small bag at him so abruptly that he had to grab it before it fell to the ground.

"Don't stand there scowling," she chided him in a low voice. "Have some pride; ignore him, if you can't be civil. Everyone here should be grateful to you: if you weren't going, one of them would have to. In there..." she waved at the bag, "are some persimmons I dried." She let her hand rest lightly on his arm as her husband said his goodbyes, and then gave a little squeeze before stepping back. "Be careful," she said, and the two of them walked away.

Their intervention had kept him from doing something stupid, and he was grateful. As he moved forward, one or another of the villagers came up to him, each bearing a small gift, until his hands were full. Apparently, his sister was right: now that they could send _him_ to the army, no one was irritated with him anymore—they all treated him as a favored son. With the exception of his father, conspicuous by his absence. Teppei was _almost_ enjoying himself when he caught sight of Keita-san and Noriya-san waiting at the edge of the village and he was jarred back to reality: he was leaving…perhaps never to come back.

After bowing to Noriya-shoya and taking formal leave of him, he bowed to Keita-san. "Dōzo yoroshiku onegaishimasu." Straightening, he looked back at the people and places he'd known all his life. Keita-san's hand settled heavily on his shoulder, and he turned back to the older man, who gave him a questioning look. Teppei gave a short nod and faced the road. Keita-san grinned and raised his staff. "We're off!"

Kenshin watched them leave from his place next to Noriya-san's hedge. He had hung back, as unobtrusive as he could make himself; it was not his place to join the others in sending Teppei-san off. He had already done what little he could, with Keita-san's help. Looking up at the gray clouds, he hoped the rain, when it started, would not be hard enough to make their way miserable: it would be an inauspicious beginning. It had rained hard the day the slavers took him away…

He looked again at the villagers as they waved and called blessings after the departing pair. Keita half-turned to give a brief wave in return, but Teppei did not look back. Kenshin began walking, taking a roundabout way to the stream. In his mind, he could still see the stricken village- what was left of its street rain-soaked and deserted –with only Hideo-san and Babasama there as he was handed over to his new masters. He had not looked back then, fearful that he would break down and plead with Hideo-san to let him stay. Nor had he looked back when he voluntarily left Shishou, angry and confused and disappointed in his mentor. As he approached the creek (_still safe, though running high and fast_), his steps slowed…_I wonder if Shishou watched me leave? Probably not. He was as angry as I—or even more so. And yet…_he watched his feet for several steps and then stopped altogether._ And yet… he tried so hard to keep me there. Surely, if it were only out of obstinacy or vanity, he would not have tried so hard, not have been as angry. He would not have gone so far as to call himself a murderer…_The more he thought about it, the more certain he became that if only he had looked behind him that day, Shishou would have been standing there. If he had looked back, would anything have changed?

He felt several heavy drops land on his head; the rain had started. _Let it not rain hard. Let the creek not get any higher. Let Teppei-kun be safe. _ He raised his face to the rain and turned towards home. One more regret. But a bit of warmth, too, at the thought that maybe—_maybe_—he had been as important to Shishou as Shishou was to him.

''''''''''''''''

The village was even smaller than he had expected: just a short row of houses (more accurately, huts) interrupting the rippling green waves of rice fields at the narrow end of the valley. He looked down at his wet and muddy hakama, not much better than his wet and muddy feet. He couldn't curse the slow drizzle that did nothing to lessen the humidity or the warmth of the day—it was too necessary for those rice fields…_and_ it kept the mosquitoes away—but he _really_ wished he had chosen to hire a kago rather than walk the four-or-so ri. Then he had to laugh at himself. Had he gotten so soft the past several months, to be bothered by such a little thing? He'd been out in worse…and he and Raikichi had made good time: he was sure it was not even the hour of the Sheep, though with the mountains so close, and the heavy clouds, it felt like dusk.

He could see someone trotting down from the banya up on the slope to warn of their arrival. There were some people out in the fields, but none seemed to be the one he hoped for.

When they were about 10 ken closer, a man emerged from the yard of the first house, trailed by the runner he had seen, and walked to meet them. The shoya, certainly, so he bowed slightly to introduce himself.

"Dōzo yoroshiku. I am Hiroe Kōsuke, of Itoyone. I've come looking for a friend that I believe is here. Himura Kenshin? We were both Ishin Shishi under Kido-sensei." He knew they were being evaluated by the man's shrewd eyes as they bowed: the appearance of an unknown samurai at a village so far from a main road would be unsettling. He did his best to look harmless as he stood under the oiled-paper umbrella and waited as the man took stock of both their worn clothing and the well-tended swords at his belt- not to mention the jar of sake that Raikichi carried

"Hajimemashite. I am Noriya, shoya of Ichimura. Why would you think a samurai would be here? We are a free village; we pay our taxes directly to the han."

He was cautious. That was good.

"I'm still with Kido-sensei. He's travelling from Hagi to Yamaguchi, and has stopped in Mitō for some business. He told me that Himura-san was here, if I wished to visit him before we travelled on. I can show you my warrant…" He pulled the paper from his sash.

His answer and friendly manner apparently satisfied Noriya-shoya, for he only glanced at it before turning to the younger man standing a little behind and asked, "Do you know where Himura-san is?" -Sō. Not quite as cautious as he would wish.-

"He went out to the new field soon after Teppei-kun and Keita-san left this morning. I think he's still there."

Nodding, the shoya dismissed him and then turned towards his house, raising his voice in a shout that brought a boy running.

"Norikazu, go fetch Himura-san. Tell him that a friend has come to see him."

The boy darted a curious look at the stranger before answering, "Hai!" and taking off at a run on a path towards the fields. The shoya gestured towards his house. "Dōzo, please come out of the rain and allow me to offer you some tea while you wait."

After rinsing as much of the filth from his feet and hakama as he could, it was pleasant to settle down on the engawa and be served hot tea by a fresh-faced young woman. He was pleased that she carried a cup to Raikichi, as well. He wanted to look around, intrigued to finally see a portion of Kenshin's background, but he could not ignore his host. Still, he had barely taken two sips before his attention was caught by movement at the far end of the village street. Darkened by the rain and distance, the red hair was almost unnoticeable, but after so many years together, he could recognize Kenshin's walk immediately.

Noticing his guest's distraction, Noriya turned his head to see Himura coming down the street with Norikazu; he was holding a bō. The two had progressed past only a couple of houses when Himura-san stopped and said something to Norikazu that sent the boy off in the other direction. Alarmed, Noriya looked back at Hiroe, who was staring fixedly at the approaching man. Had he been misled? Was there going to be trouble? Why now? He'd only just managed to get the other matter settled…As though becoming aware of his concern, Hiroe glanced his way and smiled. "I'm glad to see him again. He's a special person to me: he's saved my life several times." The man seemed sincere and did not show any more tension than might be expected from eager anticipation, so Noriya allowed himself another sip of his own tea, disconcerted by the unexpected glimpse of a Himura he'd never seen.

His comment seemed to have surprised Noriya-shoya: the man said nothing in response to his explanation. As though they could not help themselves, they both sat silently, watching Kenshin approach. It was definitely him, but…he was dressed as a peasant. Where was his sword? The smooth, perfectly-balanced swordsman's walk and the sense of cautious alertness was an incongruous, disturbing contradiction to his attire. _Why _did he only have a bō? It was obvious to anyone who knew him that Kenshin was unsure of the situation and worried about the people who had heard about the visitor and suddenly found things they needed to do in the general vicinity of the shoya's house. Rising with a hasty excuse to Noriya, he went down the steps as Kenshin approached the yard, Raikichi hastening to follow. Kenshin's eyes widened at the sight of him, and the redhead stopped, speechless.

"Himura-san! This Hiroe heard that you were nearby and had to come see you! Are you surprised?" Catching the younger man by the shoulders, he pulled him into a rough embrace, and then thrust him back to arm's length to look at him carefully. The familiar pale eyes stared back, a slow smile growing on the thin face that somehow still managed to seem disapproving. Kenshin's bones were prominent under his hands, and the wet hair dripping down his back was no longer than the bangs plastered to the sides of his head in front. What had happened to the boy?

Kenshin stepped back and gave a short bow. "Surprised, indeed. Still, it is good to see you again… Hiroe-san."

The words were welcoming, but the tone was dry. Hah! Kenshin was not happy with his sudden appearance. But better here than in Mitō…

He turned back towards the shoya's house, smiling to himself. "I need to make a better apology to Noriya-san: I left him in the middle of drinking tea. Come with me." Kenshin followed behind, nodding at Raikichi in recognition as they passed him near the gate.

Hiroe bowed as he reached the top step where Noriya stood. "I was thoughtless and rude to have gotten up and left in such an abrupt fashion. Please accept my sincere regrets."

Noriya looked uncertain, as though he was not sure if he was being mocked, but his expression quickly smoothed. "Not at all. How could one restrain oneself, seeing a dear friend after a separation? Dōzo, Hiroe-san, Himura-san, sit. Let us have some fresh tea…"

"""""""""""""

Kenshin frowned and shook his head, the ever-present bangs falling in his eyes, only to be shoved away impatiently. "You should have just sent me a message to come, Sensei. In your present position, it is not fitting for you to dress in such a fashion, or walk hours in the rain to see someone like me. What if you become ill?"

Kido Junichirō leaned against the side of the house and tilted his head back to watch the steady drip of rain off the roof. He was more at ease than he had been for some time, sitting here with his former bodyguard. No one—well, maybe Matsu, occasionally—ever dared scold him like Kenshin did. Takasugi had, but Takasugi was gone.

"In my present position-as you put it—I probably have even more enemies than I had while we were Shishi. There are plenty of people here in Chōshū that feel I've lost my loyalty to the han because I'm not pushing to fill every position or give every favor to someone from our domain, while in Ōsaka, many are dubious of the motives of our han and everyone suspects me of putting the han's interests above that of the nation. One of the reasons I'm here in Chōshū right now is to report the truth of some misunderstandings to the Old Lord and the Heir. It's still wise to take precautions when I travel alone for any distance."

"Sumimasen. I foolishly spoke without knowing anything." Kenshin bowed in remorse.

Kido waved a hand to brush aside the whole matter. "I also didn't want to draw attention to you. There're those in the government who are uneasy with past decisions. Now that the emperor is in power, they wish the assassins and the Sekihotai to be forgotten, as though they never existed. The Sekihotai has been disavowed and disbanded; Tanaka Shinbei is dead, Shishio Makoto is dead, Okata Izō is dead. Kawakami Gensai is still in prison in Kumamoto. Kirino Toshiyaki is serving as a general in the Emperor's army and doing well, so people are willing to forget his past. That leaves you. You won't serve in the army; you won't accept a post near me. I tell those who worry that you've sworn never to kill again, and that I trust you and will take responsibility for your actions. They pretend to believe me, but I'm not sure that I trust them. I don't want anyone to know where you are." He stretched, and scratched, and added, "Besides…if I'd arrived as Kido Juniichirō, everyone would've come out and I would've had to sit and be formal, and your shoya would've wanted me to stay at his house. It was you I wished to see." Pausing, he turned and frowned at the younger man, "Why do you look as though you haven't eaten for weeks?"

Kenshin patted the air soothingly. "Maa, maa. I was...ill…for a while, but I am better now."

"And your sword? Where is it? I didn't see it in the house."

"I was ill enough at one point to have…umm…alarmed some of the villagers. Noriya-shoya and I decided it would be best if he kept it for me while I was here."

"I don't like it. You need to have your sword with you. This Kido-sama will write to your shoya as soon as 'Hiroe' returns to Mitō."

Kenshin bowed in acquiescence and excused himself to go into the house. When he returned, he was carrying a pot and a stack of bowls. "Please excuse the inadequacy of the meal and lack of dishes. Since I was not sure how long I would be here, I have only the bare necessities. There is no rice, only barley and millet. And the creek is running too high to catch fish. But the daikon is fresh from the garden." He went back into the house and came out bearing a plate of the vegetable. Kneeling, he filled the bowls, handing one to Kido and then gesturing for Raikichi to come get one.

As they settled into eating, Kido asked, "Have you decided to remain here? The one letter I received said that you weren't sure how long you'd stay, but you are still here, and now you wear neither the hakama nor the hair of a samurai."

Kenshin spoke lightly, smiling at his mentor, "Do not be concerned about the jinpei: it is merely convenient for working in the fields. And my hair was cut while I was ill. " He paused as he lifted a bite to his mouth, and let his gaze travel over the yard and house. "There was a time I thought I might stay. This is where I was born, and there are many memories here." The young man fell silent for a moment, and sat staring thoughtfully into the house. He repeated, "…many memories here…" and then, abruptly, shifted his attention back to Kido, "but in the years that I have been gone, I have learned too much and forgotten too little. This place is no longer 'home'; I make the villagers uncomfortable. I originally planned to stay till harvest, but now I am thinking that I may leave in two or three weeks."

Looking down at his bowl as he nodded understanding, Kido filled his mouth with the porridge. He could hear the regret underlying Kenshin's words. Though he wished his young friend well—_wanted_ him to live a good, comfortable life: marry again, have children-, he was not entirely sorry that Kenshin would move on from this place. It would be such a waste if he stayed…

There was a lull in the conversation as the two men concentrated on their food. Kido gave a mental sigh. Village life hadn't changed Kenshin much: that person would never speak until Kido spoke first. If he didn't say something, the two of them would sit here like buddhas until it was time for him to leave.

"If you're not going to stay here, where do you plan to go?"

Kenshin set his empty bowl down and carefully set his hashi across the exact center before looking up. "Plan? I do not really have a plan." His eyes turned towards the mountain, but his gaze was unfocused as he considered. "Perhaps I will go look at Hagi…and then go north to Iwame. I travelled briefly with a group from there…

"If you need anything, go to Itoyone. I will leave instructions with the household; right now, I never know when I'll be there, and Matsu's been travelling with me." Matsu had always had a soft spot for Kenshin; it was too bad that he couldn't have brought her…

"Please, send her my greetings."

"We've married. Shortly after you left, it was arranged for her to be adopted by a samurai family. I am adopting a new heir now, as well: the younger son of my younger sister."

Kenshin bowed, smiling, "Ah. Sō ka? Omedetou gozaimashita! It is good to hear that such things have happened…"

Kido pulled a fan from his sash and opened it, then proceeded to wave it languidly as he looked sideways at Kenshin, "Now, if my former bodyguard would just return…"

His former bodyguard stared straight back at him. "No."

He covered his smile with the fan. Kenshin's complete inability to either lie or be subtle was both one of his biggest assets _and_ biggest liabilities. To be perfectly honest, though he missed Kenshin greatly and wished he was back at his side, it would not be wise—for either of them. _ Time to change topics._ Kido rose and stepped to the edge of the engawa, listening to the roar of the stream close by, as he continued to fan himself. Kenshin sat quietly behind him, as he had for so many years. This close to the water and the heavy growth that bordered it, the humidity was much worse than in either Kyōto or Itoyone; Kido gave up and closed the fan as the sound of the rushing water triggered a memory…

"Didn't you tell me that your family died during the rainy season?"

It was a moment before Kenshin answered. "Aa. The rains were heavier that year than usual. At first, everyone was pleased, because there had been so many dry years; the year I was born, it was so bad that people were starving, and the years after weren't much better. But the creek got higher and higher, and then one night it rained so hard that the water rose so fast that we had to run from our houses to higher ground. Even part of the mountain gave way. Those of us who lived on this end barely made it to safety." Kenshin gestured with his nose towards the house across the street, a little closer to the water. "Junsuke-san's son was swept away."

Kido turned to regard his young friend in amazement that such a horrifying tale should be told with such detachment, but Kenshin's face was turned towards the doorway of the house, his cheek leaning against the post, his face still. There was the sense that his spirit was far away…

"Surprisingly, many of the houses survived; the ruined ones were rebuilt. There are not as many houses now, though, and whoever lived in this one after I left made changes: there used to be a doma, and a loft, where my brother and sister and I slept."

Kido looked at the house before him with startled eyes, seeing it differently. "You mean this is actually your house? Where your family died?"

Kenshin did not even blink. "Aa. My father and I cared for the others till they died. Then he died, too."

The older man shook his head in disbelief. Was Kenshin trying to punish himself? Who would stay in a place with such dreadful memories? He moved to crouch down by the young man, resting his hand on the thin shoulder. _No wonder he looks so frail…_ "Kenshin, you should leave this place."

At the touch of his hand, Kenshin seemed to come back to himself. His face was placid as he looked at his mentor. "It is better now. And I will leave before too long."

Kido eyes searched the face that had grown so familiar to him over the years. _I don't think Kenshin has spoken this much about anything personal since I first met him at the training camp. Maybe it _has_ been good for him to be here._

"May I pay my respects to your family?"

Kenshin's eyes widened in surprise, but he nodded assent and reached for the umbrella that had been propped against the wall, rising to his feet as Kido followed suit. By the time they reached the stairs, though, the rain had abruptly slackened to almost nothing. Raikichi silently took possession of the umbrella and fell in behind as Kenshin led them towards the path that ran behind the houses. The clouds were still dark above them; it wouldn't be long before they'd need the umbrella. _With the rain, and the creek running so high, we shouldn't meet too many people_.

As they passed the creek, Kido could see that it had swallowed part of the path and many of the bordering bushes. The water was dark and turbulent and full of leaves and branches. Glancing up, he wondered how hard it was raining at the top of the mountains. Could the water rise to the top of the path tonight? Though it was not currently raining in the valley, the clouds were still dark overhead. _How can Kenshin seem so calm? This must remind him daily…_

They had passed the last house and were already at the edge of the rice fields, thick and green –growing well, thank the gods.

"It looks as though you'll have a good crop of rice."

"Mm." Kenshin paused in his stride and turned to regard the older man seriously. "Not enough, though. This year's levy is higher, and yet there are fewer men to work the fields because of those called to serve in the army, and others who have died in the last year or so. It is going to be hard meet the levy and still have enough to take everyone through to the next harvest."

Kido met his eyes unflinchingly; they'd talked about things like this often in the past. "I understand. But until the war is won completely, nothing can be done about it. You and I—all the Shishi—have sacrificed our blood and our lives for years to transform this country. Now others must make sacrifices, too, so that we can build a strong foundation. That will take time, and we can't truly begin until the Emperor's government is no longer challenged. The best thing we can do right now is win the war quickly." _If only he were still with us…_

Kenshin looked away from his mentor's gaze and resumed walking. "That may be true. But here in the village, they do not see the war, and government- to them—is the man who comes to set the levy in Lord Mori's name. All they know is that they will be hungry. They feel ill-used."

Kido shook his head in dismay as he strode along at Kenshin's side. "Aren't we fighting for them, too? Hasn't our goal always been to create a nation where everyone has an opportunity to better themselves? Where people are judged on their abilities and not their rank? But if we do not push ahead rapidly now and consolidate our gains, we may lose both our momentum and this opportunity to finally achieve our aims." He spread his hands in frustrated emphasis. _You have got to understand! _ "No matter how much we want to, we just can't afford to pause to explain to everyone, or everything could fall apart. And there are many who are clinging so tightly to what they have that they're afraid to let go in order to grasp something better- they wouldn't listen no matter what we said."

Everything he had said was true; Kenshin made no rebuttal, but did not look at him, either. Silently, they agreed to let the subject drop, and after a moment, Kido said, "I'd hoped that it would be clear today. Between all our travelling and all the rain, Shōjirō's having a hard time. It would've been good if he could've at least spent Tango no Sekku outside. Sho ga nai. Fortunately, my wife's good at entertaining him."

He paused to look with irritation at his foot, which had sunk into a particularly soft patch of mud. He muttered a mild imprecation and tried to scrape the worst onto a nearby rock. Looking up at Kenshin, he grimaced. "It's been so wet, the koi nobori are swimming, rather than flying. Has the rain spoiled your celebration?"

The younger man pushed the bangs out of his eyes, and looked over towards the houses. "I do not think much was planned. This morning, the village had to send off one of the younger men for the army—you may even have passed him as you left Mitō—and there are not many young boys in the village these days. They will probably just get some chimaki and take an iris bath at either Noriya-shoya's or Hirō-san's." His friend's own frustration was clear in the flat tone of the response. _Ah! Kenshin, don't give up on me. Our dream _will _become reality. _

Eventually, Kenshin looked at him again, and Kido was relieved to see no accusation in his gaze. "How old is-Oro?" A large, heavy drop of rain had landed on Kenshin's nose, and as he looked up, another hit him between the eyes as the rain resumed.

"We had best hurry, Kido-sensei. It looks as though this time it will rain hard," Kenshin urged.

Raikichi came up with the umbrella, to hold it over the two samurai's heads. Kido began to walk, and Kenshin kept pace, though he was obviously uncomfortable to be under the umbrella with Kido, rather than behind him with the servant.

The graveyard was austere in the watery dimness of the afternoon: the simplest of markers, clustered together on a treeless slope, with only a few hydrangeas to soften the stark lines as their blue heads nodded with the rain. The path continued up the slope and away to the left towards the banya and a small Inari shrine. Towards the right and up almost to the beginning of the trees, a blackened scar cut an ominous line across the mountainside. Kenshin's eyes followed his. "That is the burning ground. The Eta live just beyond, in the trees." Turning, he walked away, leaving Kido to follow slowly. _I'm a practical man, and in the sun, perhaps everything looks different, but…I could easily believe that ghosts would linger here._

Kenshin stopped before three markers that were indistinguishable from most of the others, save for the names etched into them. The rain tapped impatiently on the umbrella as Kido stood quietly next to Kenshin as the young man bowed and prayed briefly. Watching him, Kido wondered at his own temerity. He had spoken on impulse when he asked to visit the graves, but now that he stood here, what could he say? How would he feel if someone made Sōjirō do the things he had required of Kenshin when the boy was so young and inexperienced? Kenshin opened his eyes and contemplated the graves a moment longer, the sadness on his face so clear that Kido's heart ached with both sympathy and guilt. _How could anyone believe that this person is without feeling?_

"This is my family." Looking at Kido, Kenshin's eyes were as grey as the stones he gestured to. "My father, Shinsaku; my mother, Mineko; my little sister, Aiko. My little brothers, Shinshū and Shinpei are here, too: my father and I buried them with my mother."

Without comment, Kido merely nodded, and then bowed to the memorials. Turning back, Kenshin addressed his parents: "Otōsan, Okāsan, this is my master, Kido-sensei."

Bowing low, Kido placed his hands together. From what little Kenshin had said about his father, he thought the man _might_ understand him.

"Most honorable father of Kenshin," he prayed silently, "I should get down on my knees to address you, but if I did, it would only cause your son more distress. I will certainly kneel when I meet you, in gratitude for the way you raised your son, and in regret for all the things I had to ask of him. Please forgive me, and understand that all the things we have done have been necessary to help this country become a place where people like you and your son can be valued for who they are, rather than what position they have been born into. I promise that I will not let his sacrifices be wasted. No matter what he has done, Kenshin is a worthy person—a good son that you can be proud of. Please give your support to him, and to our efforts."

Once Kido raised his head, Kenshin turned back to the path in the quickening rain, commenting, "Your travel tomorrow will be slow going. The way the clouds look, it will probably rain the rest of the day—and maybe through the night."

"Whether it does, or doesn't, I have to be in Yamaguchi no later than tomorrow night in order to prepare to leave for Nagasaki on the 10th. We'll drink tonight, and I'll leave early in the morning."

Kenshin filled Kido's cup with sake once again; Kido picked up the jar to perform the same service for the younger man, only to find that Kenshin's cup was still two-thirds full. True, he had never seen Kenshin drink much, but if he had though about it at all, had just assumed that it was because he was usually on duty when they were together. Even now, Kido wasn't entirely sure if the reason he wasn't drinking was because Kenshin was not happy with him. But if it was, so be it. _ I'm not too happy with him, either._

In fact, Kido was depressed.

The afternoon had passed smoothly enough. They had returned from the graveyard in heavy rain, to strip off their clothes and drape them on the clothes-pole to rinse clean, before they brought them in to dry. Kenshin had loaned him some clothes, and the mood had lightened when they had laughed because the hakama that were ankle length on Kenshin came up to his shin. He had fixed the problem by drawing them in and tying them below his knee, and then they had opened most of the side of the house with the straw mats down to keep the rain from slanting in. They had been briefly interrupted by a boy who had been sent with an offer to eat dinner with the shoya in the evening. Kido had reluctantly accepted the invitation for both of them: 'Hiroe' looked like a man that would take advantage of any free meal.

Once the boy was gone, they sat down to talk. He had told Kenshin about the young Emperor, and about the groups attacking the imperial patrols in Edo. He'd even told him about the northern domains banding together to fight the new government, and about the Christian problem that was the main reason for his trip to Nagasaki. It was almost like old times: the last year or so, Kenshin had been his sounding-board. He would never speak his opinion unless directly asked, but his occasional questions would often send Kido's thoughts off in directions not previously considered. And yet, such a person now sat before him swordless, thin—even for Kenshin-, and plaiting straw sandals like any peasant. When he complained, Kenshin merely shrugged and replied, "By law, villagers aren't supposed to be idle, even at home; I do not wish to sit idle while they work. And anyway, right now, there is nothing else for me to do while it rains."

Such a waste! But he tamped down his irritation, and asked his former bodyguard for more detail about his travels than had been written in his letter, stopping him often for clarification, growing angry again at the accusations made against Chōshū in Tsuyama.

"Were the men punished for attacking you?"

"I was gone before the specific penalty was determined, but I know that they were held accountable." Kenshin set his work aside and bowed humbly. "I regret that it was necessary for me to present my warrant and bring your name into such a matter. I will take responsibility for any trouble it may have caused you."

"That was months ago, and no one has said a thing. Don't worry about it."

Raikichi had appeared, with that boy, ready to escort them to the shoya's house. Kido had lost track of time with the lack of sun and his conversation with Kenshin.

He grit his teeth at the memory of the interminable meal. They had been served in the shoya's reception room, and he had immediately noticed Kenshin's sword, where it had been placed in a sword rack. Besides the shoya, the village elders were present as well. It was nearly as bad as any of his negotiations during the past years: he had to stay apparently oblivious and cheerful as 'Hiroe' the whole time he could feel a strong undercurrent of hostility and contempt. The surprise had been that, rather than directed at both of them generally as samurai, those feelings seemed to be focused on Kenshin alone.

None of the ill feelings originated with the shoya: even in his speech, he was carefully neutral, which was something to be thankful for. And one of the two old women present obviously liked Kenshin, judging by the smiles she gave him. It had been a shock when—as they were coming home—Kenshin had told him that she was the wife of the shoya who had sold him to the slavers.

But the four others… With another samurai there, they could do nothing obvious, but to a man who had only survived by reading every nuance of the reactions of those around him, their feelings were clear. It was so similar to the attitudes that surrounded Kenshin while he was an assassin… It had angered Kido, and he had started telling tales of some of the Shishi's battles, boasting not only of Kenshin's prowess and his honor, but of how favored he was by Kido-sensei himself. Kenshin had looked uncomfortable then, and had scolded him on the way home, but Kido had the satisfaction of seeing amazement and some apprehension on their faces as they listened, and a certain caution in their manner as they bid the two samurai 'good evening' when it was time to leave. "Good," he had thought. "Kenshin's been too humble again. Now, whether or not they like him, they know they better respect him."

He downed the teacup full of sake and felt the fuzziness in his mind that meant he was already somewhat drunk. It wasn't enough. He stared at his hand on the table, at the now-empty cup, and then looked up at Kenshin, sitting silently across from him. The younger man met his regard steadily and pushed the small plate of dried squid towards him, and then leaned forward to fill his cup once again. Kido watched the red head as it bowed over the simple task. _Such a waste. I took him and made use of him and ruined his life, and now he won't let me do anything to help him but give him a piece of paper to wave in people's faces. The guilt he feels makes him too humble. He's too patient with these people, and too forgiving with me. He should be a priest—but that'd be a waste, too._

Kido straightened up and reached into his obi, pulling out a thin packet, which he set on the table and slid towards Kenshin. His friend picked it up and pulled the notes out of the paper, looking at them curiously.

"What's this?"

"It's the other half of your stipend. That's the new national currency. I suggest you change it for coin as soon as possible. Right now the exchange rate is fairly even, but once word gets out that Yoshinobu left almost nothing in the treasury, it's almost certain to fall drastically." He picked up his cup and drained it again.

Kenshin tucked the notes back in, and started to slide them back across the table. "I really do not-"

Kido reached over and grabbed his wrist, stopping him. "You still carry my warrant. Don't argue."

Kenshin said nothing, but studied his master's face and then nodded shortly, tucking the packet into his sleeve. Still without comment, he filled Kido's cup again, and then picked up his own, drinking it slowly.

_At least I can make sure that he doesn't have to beg._ Kido thought of some of the beggars he'd seen on his trip, former soldiers who'd been too badly wounded to ever fight again. Thought of all the friends and fighting companions he'd had in the Shishi- so many dead now, so few remaining from the earlier days…_Kenshin is precious to me._

"I've visited a lot of graves recently." Kenshin blinked at the random remark, as Kido emptied his cup yet again. "I often wonder why I survived to see the implementation of our hopes, when so many others didn't. A majority of my close friends have died fighting for our cause. Why d'you suppose we lived, Kenshin?"

As he stared at the young man across from him, his thoughts drifted back to the boy who astonished everyone-not just with his unusual appearance, but with his skill with a sword—and to Takasugi who had been delighted with his find! That man had been so full of energy in all he did that it had seemed impossible for him to be dead so soon. There was Katsu, too, so promising! But only seventeen when he was cut down at the Hamaguri Gate, along with Kusaka. Memory flitted from one to another: Yoshida-sensei, Murata-san, Yamada-san—even that curious Sakamoto-san who had managed to pull Chōshū and Satsuma together…

Lost in his reverie, Kido sat and drank. Kenshin watched as slow tears welled up in his master's eyes and ran down his cheeks. He kept the cup full; hadn't he had his own nights of wishing to remember while longing to forget? Perhaps it was the same for everyone…

"We must succeed, Kenshin." The older man's eyes refocused, though they were hazy now, from the sake. He leaned forward and prodded Kenshin's knee with his finger. "We _must_ succeed- to honor the devotion of all those who fell!" Kido spoke with the careful enunciation of a drunken man, but rather than making him look foolish, it seemed only to emphasize his sincerity. Straightening up, he winced and rubbed his stomach.

Kenshin's eyes fixed on the gesture, and then raised to examine his master's face, noticing the sheen of a light sweat that had broken out along his hairline. "Are you all right, Kido-sensei? Do you feel ill?"

Kido looked up from frowning at the floor, his hand still rubbing—harder now. The pain had sharpened his thoughts. _Better now, with Kenshin, than at the inn with so many people around._

"I'm not sick. But I 'd best lie down: I don't know how bad this'll be." The pain was steadily growing; he didn't want to talk. He eased himself down to a prone position, and closed his eyes. "Raikichi will explain."

'''''''''''''''''

6th day, 5 month

_Should I have not let him drink so much? Did being out in the weather so long bring on the attack? What else can I do?_ _I can't see that the medicine Raikichi gave him did anything! _He was ready to tear his hair with the frustration he felt, just sitting and watching over his master as the man panted and groaned, or seemed to doze fitfully when the pain eased. It _did_ seem as though Kido-sensei was relaxing a little more this time: the lines in his forehead were not as deep and his breathing was a little slower.

Raikichi had had little to tell him. The attacks had started even before Fushimi, but were not very frequent; Kenshin had never seen one before. Apparently none of the doctors Kido-sensei had seen had been able to determine what caused the stomach pain…or a reliable treatment. If they could not, what good was his meager knowledge? Kido was sweating, but Kenshin did not wipe his face for fear of waking him. Should he do it anyway? The night had been warm with clouds, but in the last hour the sky had begun to clear and the house was beginning to cool down. He pulled the cover up a little and hoped he had made the right decision.

Anxiety forced him to his feet and he left Kido's side to walk outside and down to the gate. Raikichi should be returning soon, with some means of transporting their patient to Mitō. In one of the quiet periods, Kido-sensei had stayed awake long enough to tell them to make sure that he got back. Raikichi had tried to argue, but Kido had ordered it: he _had_ to be back in Yamaguchi in time to leave for Nagasaki, and there was nothing they could say that would change his mind.

The sky was beginning to fade into false dawn, but the dark clouds that would bring the day's rain were mounded on the horizon like foam against a stream bank. Against the darkness of merged clouds and horizon, he could see two faint lights bobbing rapidly. No peasant on his way to market would move so quickly: it must be Raikichi returning. Kenshin released a deep breath. _Am I sorry, or relieved, that he will be leaving now?_ He watched the lights a second longer, and then turned to go back to Kido.

**A/N:** ''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

After Toba-Fushimi, Kido married the geisha Ikumatsu, who had helped him while he was in hiding. His first heir, Katsu-a younger son of his older sister-died at Hamaguri Gate, and he adopted a new heir, Soujirou. Kido, was, in fact, in Choshu, in transit between Hagi and Yamaguchi at the time he appears in this story. He was there for the reasons mentioned: to allay suspicions, to visit the graves of comrades, and to leave for Nagasaki to deal with 'the Christian problem.' Itayone is a little village outside of Yamaguchi, where Kido's home was. According to his diary, he was very concerned with the problems in the new government, and missing his companions a great deal, while feeling a heavy weight of responsibility to make sure their goals were realized. The stomach ailment is also factual...it eventually contributed to his death.


	16. Chapter 16 Tsuyu, Pt2

**To all of you who have been so patient, thank you! Frankly, I'm not sure if I will ever write the full 10 years, as I had originally intended. But I will finish Chōshū, for sure. After that, if I start another section, I promise to finish it. I hate things that leave me hanging, and I won't do it to you.**

**To those who asked about Kido's stomach pains: according to the translator of Kido's diary, it was probably complications of beri-beri, a disease that often cropped up amongst the higher-class that ate white rice. _If you ask a question, remember to give me a an address if you want to get an answer._**

**Vocabulary:** gomen kudasai—said when entering someone's house

irori—pit hearth

ittekimasu; itterasshai—formulaic : 'I'm leaving', 'Go & return'(or we'd

say, 'See you later'

kegare—sins or impurities (or ritual uncleanliness which lasts about 30 days

after childbirth)

mizuko—stillborn, aborted, or an infant that dies soon after birth

moshiwake arimasen—"I have no excuse. I'm sorry."

nizuna—the herb 'shepherd's purse'

Otōsan, Tōsan, Otō—Father, Dad, Daddy, etc

Okaasan, Okaa, Kaasan—Mother, Mom, Mommy, etc

Obasan—aunt (may just be close friend of mother's age)

Onee-chan-big sister

Onegai shimasu—begging for a favor

Ri-a little over 2 miles

Shoya—village head

Shitsurei shimasu—"I'm about to be rude" i.e. 'excuse me'

Sotoba—wooden posts used as memorials, put up on graves at

various occasions

**I got most my information on childbirth traditions from **

"**Childbirth Traditions" Japan Health Handbook by Louise Picon Shimizu, Meredith Enman Maruyama, Nancy Smith Tsurumaki, pg.115-117**

**As always, Kenshin and Tomoe are Watsuki's, Sony's, etc. Kido is historical. The villagers are mine.**

* * *

**Tsuyu, Pt.2**

14th day, 5th month

Great-grandfather Kōtarō would not approve of having his memorial attached to someone else's. At least, remembering Tōsan's stories, Kenshin didn't think he would. But what to do? Wasn't it better to share his grandson's day than not have one at all? Kenshin emptied the last of Kido-sensei's sake over the stone.

"Moshiwake arimasen, great-grandfather. Please understand: I won't be here this winter."

His father had honored all the death anniversaries of the family, but once his father died and he was sold, would anyone have ever left offerings for his family? And after this-when he was gone again-would his family eventually be forgotten? _I can come back. Just come for a day_. Even as he thought it, he knew it might not be possible. Who knew where his future led?

Kenshin adjusted the sotoba so that it stood a little straighter and looked around the cluster of stones that was the Himura family. Surely, great-grandfather would be pleased to have the name back? Maybe that would balance out his displeasure...if he was really watching. If any of them really still existed somewhere else.

He moved towards his father's stone and stroked it with his hand. His parents had been well-regarded and Hideo-shoya had made sure that Otōsan had a good stone. How could his family not be there? Sometimes they felt so near... And yet, if they were there, waiting for him, then didn't that mean that his nightmares were also true? That all those he had killed were waiting as well? Could he _ever_ do enough good to assuage their anger?

He picked up the jar and basket and stood a moment longer, looking at the graves, and beyond them to the west- dim lights visible in the other town, the nearly-full moon low in the hyacinth blue of the pre-dawn sky. Even though the sun had not yet risen, the air was warm and heavy. His clothes clung to his damp skin and he pulled at the jinpei; it had been a long time since he'd felt dry.

But the rain was not quite as frequent. Perhaps soon things would begin to dry out. If they didn't, the village might be in trouble: the daily check on the storehouse had revealed mildew on some of the grain.

He sighed, and stepped onto the path. Kido-sensei had asked him what his plans were. He really _should _have a plan. Months ago, he'd told the older man that he wanted to see more of the country. More of the people they'd said they were fighting for. _That's where I should start. Where shall I go once I leave?_

He was half way down when he saw Seiji-san with his eldest son Daigo, starting up the path with Chūgo following behind. _They must be on day watch. I'm really not in the mood to deal with them right now._

As they drew closer and became aware of him, he could feel the heat of animosity from the two older men wash over him, and braced himself for the snide remarks that were sure to follow. But they said nothing as they passed him by—merely pretended to be looking at something off to the side of the path, barely inclining their heads in acknowledgment of his presence. Chūgo was a surprising relief, his ki wavering with a hesitant kindness as he bowed and smiled uncertainly. Kenshin was overwhelmingly grateful, knowing that if Chūgo's father had noticed his son's actions, he would definitely face some form of penalty.

_The smile would have been enough; Seiji-san will be livid that he bowed…_Kenshin himself wasn't too happy about the bows. Apparently, Kido-sensei's stories had had the effect his lord desired: people were much more respectful towards him-outwardly, at least. As far as he was concerned, however, it was just one more thing that made him feel awkward.

The weight of the jar in his hand reminded him that he needed to stop at the well. The river was still far too high and muddy to provide decent water. He'd have to keep making daily trips to the well until the water settled—at least a month more_. But I'll be gone by then, won't I? _ Rather than cutting past the storehouse, Kenshin continued on past Noriya-shoya's house to reach the village's only well.

Honomi-san was there before him, pulling up the bucket. She looked worn out, and Kenshin quickly set down his things and stepped forward to take the rope from her hands.

"Shitsurei shimasu. Let me help you, Obasan."

The older woman smiled gratefully and allowed herself to lean against the well. "Arigato, Ken-chan."

"Are you ill?" He asked bluntly, worried by the obvious lack of her usual energy.

"Iie. Just tired. And a little worried. Maruko-san and I have been walking Nami-chan for almost two days now."

She reached for the standing bucket that Kenshin had just filled, but Kenshin waved her back and dropped the well's bucket back down. "Let me fill my jar and I will carry the bucket home for you. Walking Nami-chan? Why would you do that?"

Honomi looked a little flustered and rubbed at her forehead. "Eh! See? I'm not thinking too clearly. It's not really appropriate…"

"But you said you were worried. Is she not well? Is there a problem with the baby?"

He dumped the water into his jar and looked at her with concern. She stared back for a minute and then gave her head a little shake before she looked around to see if anyone was coming. He was almost family, after all… "She's been having pains for two days. O-Ine-san told us yesterday afternoon to start walking her and said it would speed things up, but so far, nothing has changed. It's just tired us all out. And Naota's about to drive us all crazy. Maruko-san and I don't often agree, but we've both decided that if something doesn't happen soon, we're going to find a reason to send him to town."

Watching as his brows drew down and his mouth tightened, she wanted to kick herself. Even if she was tired, how could she have forgotten Kenshin's mother's difficult labors, and that one of her children was born dead? No matter how worried she was, he didn't need to be drawn in. She took a breath and shaped a slight smile, "Maa,maa…Kenshin, she'll be fine. Right now she's tired, but once she feels that the baby is really coming, the excitement will give her more energy."

For maybe the hundredth time, Kenshin wished that he did not have such trouble reading women's ki. It never helped to remind himself that Shishou had assured him that no man could. "Their lives are so proscribed, that to exert any control at all over their circumstances, they must have perfect discipline over their thoughts and feelings. They can suppress their ki better than the greatest swordsman," he'd stated, and then, struck by a notion, continued, "Perhaps…. if one was raised in the same manner as a male child, she would be easier to read?" Standing right in front of Honomi-san, he could tell she _was_ worried just by looking at her, but how serious it was, was hidden from him. _Do I listen to her words, and believe them? Or do I listen to how I feel?_ And then the harsh realization:_ Even if Nami is having trouble, what could I possibly do?_

Accepting his helplessness, he silently bowed his head in assent and, tucking the basket under his arm and picking up the jar and bucket, accompanied her down the street to Naota's house.

Maruko-san hurried out to meet them when she heard the sound of their feet on the boards. "I've let Nami-chan sit down for a while. She's just too heavy when I'm the only one she's leaning on! And Naota keeps coming in!" She caught sight of Kenshin, and grabbed his arm. Water splashed. "Ah, ah, ah! Himura-san! Please go with Naota-kun to the field. It hasn't been checked for weeds for two or three days; I'm sure it needs weeding!" Before he could answer, the harried woman shifted her grasp to Honomi's arm. "Honomi-san, come here—O-Ine-san sent Kin-chan over."

He was left standing alone in front of the door. It was wide open to catch what little breeze there was, and Kenshin could see the two women disappearing into a room that was closed off. By the time he had set down the bucket and was wondering if he should enter, Maruko had reappeared, pushing an uncooperative Naota in front of her.

"Go! Go weed with your friend! We'll send Kin-chan to get you as soon as something changes." Almost before her last words were out, Maruko had given her son a last push out the door and turned back into the house.

Naota looked at Kenshin and rolled his eyes. "You know what Kaasan's like: we might as well do what she says. Her hoe should have a handle short enough for you." Heading down the steps, he walked to the tool shed with Kenshin trailing after him.

_Your show of unconcern would be very convincing if I couldn't feel how agitated you are. How is Nami-chan, really? How are you?_

Kenshin studied his friend carefully as he accepted the hoe Naota presented. A tightness at the corner of the man's eyes and mouth hinted at the strain he was under; one wrong word could break his control and reduce him to unacceptable—and unforgivable—tears.

"I heard that some of the grain has gone bad. Do you think we'll make it to harvest?" Kenshin asked.

"Actually, we're doing fairly well. Noriya-shoya was saying how fortunate we are: many of the villages have already lost enough that they may not make it to harvest."

The tension eased….just a little. That was good. He had wanted to relieve his own frustration and worry about Nami-chan. He may not be able to do anything directly, but he could help the ones taking care of her. That was good enough.

And when they reached the fields and started pulling weeds, the physical labor was good, too. Bending and digging gave both Naota and him an acceptable outlet for their feelings. They spoke little as they lost themselves in the nirvana of mindless movement. The women were too busy to bring them lunch when the time came, but they did not even notice.

As they worked their way closer to the creek, they startled a heron that was stalking through the rice. He stared at them irritably before snatching up a frog and flapping off. A swarm of mosquitoes rose up as well- so dense as to seem like the heron's shadow- before they settled back into the protection of the thick green grain.

The sudden interruption broke the reassuring rhythm that they had worked so hard to maintain. Reality settled back on their shoulders, and they straightened stiff backs to look for the sun's position. Almost evening. They'd finished Naota's field and moved into Junsuke's. Neither of them wanted to say what they were thinking. Kenshin slapped at a stray mosquito, and realized that he itched in several places. Naota was looking at the ground, avoiding eye contact. Kenshin opened his mouth, unsure of what he could say to his friend, when he suddenly saw someone running in their direction. "It's Kin-chan! Kin-chan is coming, Naota!" The man's head snapped up, and they both began running down the row, meeting the young woman at the verge.

"Naota-san, your mother asked me to tell you that Nami-san's labor is progressing now. O-Ine-san is at your house."

''''''''''''''''''''''''

15th day, 5th month

Ine rubbed at her stiff neck and tried to ignore the headache that had been nagging at her temples for the last four days. After a long night, the tiny room reeked of their sweat. She wondered yet again how big the baby really was. Naota-kun was one of the larger men in the village. Did it have enough room to make its way out?

"Nami-chan, I know it's very hard, but don't fight the pain…just let it wash through you. If you can do that, things'll go much faster."

Maruko started whining again. "Can I let go? My wrists are aching!" At Ine's distracted nod, she let go of Nami's shoulders and began massaging her wrists, muttering, "Chūgo's wife didn't take even a third this long…"

Ine's legs might not work right any more, but her hearing was fine. "Baka! If you don't shut your mouth, you'll be out helping your son beat the drum, and I'll get Honomi-san to help me."

In the dead silence that followed her remark, the door slid open a crack and Honomi's voice asked, "Did you call me, O-Ine-san?"

Ine did not respond immediately as she kept her eyes on Maruko. Maruko pouted, but then nodded. The old woman looked at Kin, who moved one finger to surreptitiously point at Nami's haggard face. The young woman's head leaned against the rope she still clung to, but Ine caught the shine of tears, glistening in the light of the oil lamp. That was enough.

"Yes, I did, Honomi-san. Maruko-san is getting tired, and would like to rest a bit. Would you please trade places with her?"

Maruko began to protest, but Ine had had enough of her thoughtlessness. The stupid woman didn't even have the sense to accept the dignified exit she had tried to give her. Now, she just waved her out. _I was stupid myself, to think this would work. The separate room isn't worth putting up with her. If she wants a grandson so much, she should give more thought to his mother. I should have just done it the usual way and had Nami-chan go home for the birth._

Nami began to groan again. Her mother put reassuring hands on her back, and at Ine's command, Kin began to gently rub the swollen, rigid belly. The intervals of rest had steadily shortened till they seemed to be nothing more than a minute or two. Ine twisted a clean rag into a knot and dipped it into just a little water, so that Nami could bite on it to moisten her dry mouth.

_It's taking so long! _Ine rubbed at her forehead and then scooted up till she was next to Kin. She nudged her to the side, asking in a whisper, "Have you felt anything odd while you were massaging?"

Kin looked at her teacher with wide eyes. "Is there something wrong?"

"Just tell me how her stomach felt. Do you remember what Sakura-san's felt like? Does it feel the same?"

The young woman closed her eyes in thought. Her hands twitched as she replayed the other birth in her mind. "I'm not sure. Once the baby had lowered, the upper part of her stomach was harder than Sakura-san's. But she was lying down; now, I can't tell any difference." She opened her eyes, frowning in concern, "Should there be?"

"I don't know yet." The old woman turned back to her patient and gave her a pat. "You're doing well. I'm just going to check to see how far down the baby is."

In the brief respite between contractions, she had Nami lie down again and pushed and probed carefully. It was as Kin had said: there was definitely something solid that should not be there. She pushed harder, drawing a cry from Nami, but another contraction started, and her opportunity was lost. Nami struggled back up, but turned her head and sobbed into her mother's neck while Kin murmured soothing words. Ine scooted back to her position at the foot of the pallet, frustrated. What could it be? Maybe it was just her imagination. She rubbed her eyes and wished she could lie down.

But Nami's strangled cries brought her back to the moment. She checked again… "Now! Push now, Nami-chan!"

With cries of encouragement from the women around her, and the skillful hands of Ine, Nami was finally delivered of her child just as the sun came up. Exhausted, she fell into a light doze as her mother quickly sponged off the crying infant. Naota stood anxiously at the door, waiting to see his son. Maruko slapped at his hands as he reached for the child that Honomi brought over.

"Kegare!" Maruko warned. Mother and son admired the newborn from a safe distance, counting his fingers and toes. He was perfect! And born on an auspicious day!

Ine ignored the happy group at the door, and slid over to check Nami's abdomen. Her firm pushes brought forth a groggy protest, but that was not what stilled her efforts. She stared at her hands in shock, for under them, even through the mushiness of the relaxed womb, she could now definitely feel … the shape of a head. _Another baby? _ There had been no sign of its presence before, except for Nami's size. Could it have been hidden behind the other child?

Never in all her years had this happened! Of the few other midwives she had ever met, none had spoken of such a thing. What should she do? Would it come out on its own, now that the first child no longer blocked it? Was it even alive? Dogs and cats had several babies. Deer would sometimes have two. But not humans. It was…unnatural. _What _should she do?

Her helper had already started cleaning up. Ine spoke softly, "Kin-chan! Are there any clean rags left, or clean water?"

Kin straightened quickly. "Hai, Sensei! There are a few rags, and another bucket of water."

Continuing in low tones, the old woman directed, "Good. Hurry and get the baby and tell everyone to go away so that Nami-chan and the baby can rest. Nami-chan needs to try to nurse; she needs to start having contractions again."

The younger girl regarded the old woman with brief confusion, but then she smiled and nodded. "Hai, Sensei! I remember! It is to keep her from bleeding too much, _ne_?"

Ine did not look at Kin as she responded, "That's one of the reasons. Now go and do what I told you." As her helper scurried off, Ine began to slowly massage Nami's stomach, humming a soothing tune to the new mother, as she willed whatever was in there to come out.

Once Kin had returned with the newborn, and Nami had roused enough to nurse, Ine sent her student home. _I will explain things to her after _I_ understand. _Fortunately, the house was silent, empty except for the three of them there in the tiny room. Maruko had probably gone off to brag about their new boy. Naota would probably do the same once he had buried the afterbirth. Honomi would've gone home to her family to tell them that all was well.

The first contraction came shortly after Nami had finished nursing. Her eyes widened with alarm.

Ine patted her arm reassuringly. "It's fine; don't worry. There is another baby yet to be delivered." Nami's mouth opened in a silent exclamation of disbelief, and Ine endeavored to sound calm and confident. "Yes, it's true. It's very unusual, but you will be fine." _Please, gods, let it be so!_

The contractions were stronger this time, and much faster. The water broke right away and the baby moved down quickly. It was as though the baby was racing to be born, now that its sibling was out of the way. Or perhaps…as though Nami's body was eager to get rid of it.

Nami clung to the rope and bit down hard on the knotted rag, as her firstborn slept quietly through it all. Within minutes, the baby rested in Ine's hands, slick and warm from birth. Ine looked at it—and shuddered. Whispering wordless prayers to whatever gods might be listening, she looked away from the staring eyes and wrapped it tightly along with the afterbirth, first in one cloth, and then another, fumbling as one of her hands suddenly began to twitch.

The young mother raised her head from her hands that still clung to the rope. "Is it a boy, or a girl?" Her voice was hoarse with the effort of speaking.

"I am sorry, Nami-chan. It is mizuko." The old woman spoke as gently as she could, keeping her voice from trembling only by great effort. "One child for you to keep, and one for the gods to claim." _Or the demons…_ How could this have happened to sweet Nami-chan? Even now, the charm for a safe birth hung around her neck! _Perhaps she would have died, otherwise…This—thing—could have killed her._

She wrapped it as tightly as she could in one more cloth, and pushed the bundle to lie against the wall. Quickly washing her hands, she scooted herself up to Nami's side to console the grieving woman and redirect her attention to her other child, sweetly sleeping. Finally, worn out, Nami fell asleep cuddling her little boy.

Ine's hand continued to spasm, and her head was pounding. She was unable to leave until either Naota or Maruko returned. Surely one of them would return soon? Quietly, she tidied up the room as best she could, and gathered together her few implements while trying to ignore the fearsome presence. Had it just moved? Had it made a noise? She picked up some of the salt she had used to cleanse her hands and threw it. _I will have to at least tell Naota that there was another child. How can I make sure he doesn't unwrap it? Should I have him bury it near the shrine? Burning it might be just as well. How long…_

Her vision blurred. _I have to make sure that no one knows! _She heard footsteps on the wooden floor, and gasped at Naota's voice, announcing his arrival.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Kenshin smiled to himself as he rinsed off. The day was going well! Naota had found him at the well just after daybreak, about to burst with pride in his new son. He was pleased for his friend, and relieved that Nami had been safely delivered of her child.

Practice had gone well, too. It was good to have Kuiaratame back in his possession: he had felt incomplete without it. Had he ever thought he could live properly without the sword? He knew now that it was too much a part of who he was…

His happy musings were shattered by the sound of running feet pounding up his steps, anxiety thrusting its way into his room before Norikazu stood gasping in his doorway.

"Himura-san! Himura-san!" he panted, barely able to get the words out. "Onee-chan…"

Kenshin was by his side immediately. "Stop. Take a couple of breaths." Anxious eyes stared into his as the boy struggled to slow his breathing. Kenshin pushed his own impatience back, waiting till the boy could speak coherently; it would save time in the end.

"Onee-chan sent me to get you. Nami-san had her baby early this morning, and everything looked fine. But now Nami-san's suddenly started bleeding a lot, and Onee-chan doesn't know what to do and can't ask O-Ine-san because when O-Ine-san went home, she was really sick and started talking about babies and demons and you and Onee-chan thinks that it's the summer fever really bad and she might die but Onee-chan remembered that you've done something with medicines and helped Iori-kun that time and she needs help!"

Kenshin gripped the boy's shoulder reassuringly. _Childbirth, and O-Ine-san! What can I do about either of them?_ "I'll come. Let me get my box. Maybe there'll be something helpful in there…" He hurried to get it, and as he came back to the boy's side, asked, "Where is Kin now?"

"She's with Nami-san. Honomi-san and Maruko-san are there, too. Hurry!" As soon as they reached the ground, Norikazu broke into a run and conversation stopped until they had reached Naota's house.

"Where is Naota-san?"

Norikazu looked distracted for a moment. "Oh! Since Nami-san and the baby looked fine, he got permission to go into town with the others so that he could celebrate a little."

_We need to get him back._

The door was open, but no one was immediately visible within, though a baby's cries could be heard. "Gomen kudasai…" Kenshin and Norikazu stepped into the room, and Norikazu pointed to the other door.

"They are still in there."

Before he had finished speaking, a harried- looking Maruko emerged, nodding distractedly at the two of them as she picked up a basket. "Norikazu-kun, your sister tells me that I must collect more rags. You are supposed to stay here in case she needs you for other errands."

She disappeared down the steps, and Kenshin exchanged a glance with the boy before walking over and kneeling to the side of the birthing-room door. The baby's cries suddenly stopped. "Kin-chan, I am here. How can I help?"

There was a pause, and then Kin appeared in the doorway, her face flushed and hair disheveled. She pushed at the trailing strands with her wrist, and he noticed faint traces of blood above her clean, wet hands.

"Himura-san! Tell me what you know about stopping bleeding!"

"Gomen nasai. All of my experience is with injuries. For those, one applies pressure to the wound, until it stops. Sometimes you stitch the wound closed. But I know nothing about childbirth."

"It doesn't matter! I'll try anything. I've got Nami-san nursing the baby; O-Ine-san told me before that that helps. And I'm trying to use rags to apply pressure where I can. But I haven't learned all the medicines yet. You told us that you once sold remedies to villagers. Did none of them ever ask for anything to help slow bleeding?"

He thought for a moment, remembering days going out with his sample cabinet. _What was it? _ Often, Tomoe was with him, and she would talk to the women… It had been so long since his days with Tomoe in Otsu! Yet every moment he had spent with Tomoe was etched into his brain: all he had to do was close his eyes and he was back in that town, the afternoon light glowing golden around her as she sat by his side, speaking quietly to some women about a difficult birth. He had pretended to be taking stock of their supplies, but his thoughts had all been on her, still amazed that she was there, with him, and that their relationship was subtly shifting…_Nizuna! That was it!_

"Ah! There was something once: nizuna. They used it in a tea. But I do not have-"

Kin leaned forward, hope dawning in her eyes, her hands gripping each other, "I know that herb: it's used in cooking, too! We have some! Please, _please_, go to O-Ine-san's house; I know there is some there."

"Kin-chan, I don't know if it is wise for me to go to that house." Kenshin admitted reluctantly.

"O-Ine-san was unconscious when I left; from what I have learned, it is unlikely she'll recover. Nene-san is staying with her and will tell me if anything changes. Just go over and bring the nizuna back, please. There will be no problem."

"Mm," Kenshin nodded emphatically and got quickly to his feet as Kin disappeared back into the room. As he crossed the road to Ine's house, he felt a little dazed by how grown-up his friend had seemed. She was a young woman now—she had changed from the blushing young girl she had been when he first arrived.

As he entered O-Ine-san's house, Nene-san stared at him in confusion, but as soon as he explained his errand, she returned to sponging the arms and face of the oblivious Ine. Kenshin had seen enough people die that it was clear to him that the old woman did not have long. Though his instinct was to try to help, reason told him that Kin's and Nami's needs were immediate and there was nothing he could do for Ine. He turned his back, and looked up at the bundles of plants that hung from every rafter.

It took just minutes to find the right bundle, and he sprinted back to Naota's house, calling out as he entered, "Kin-chan! I have the nizuna! I'll prepare the tea for you."

A haggard looking Honomi appeared from the birthing room as Kenshin set Norikazu to heating the water at the irori while he began stripping off the leaves. She handed him a piece of cloth to put them in, and knelt next to him, bowing her head. "Onegai shimasu, Ken-san. Save our Nami-chan."

He wished with all his heart that he could promise such a thing, but all he could do was nod his head, determined to do everything possible. She sat for a moment, as though waiting for the promise he could not give, and then rose, gathering her energy to rejoin the battle being waged in the other room.

When the tea was ready, he took a cup and the pot over to the doorway. "Kin-chan! Here is the tea. Give her a cupful now, and a little more every few minutes until it's gone. There's more, if you need it."

Kin came to the door, not even bothering to rinse her hands this time. She looked desperate. "Arigato gozaimashita. I will follow your instructions. But, Himura-san, right now it is not going well. I don't think that Naota-san knows what is happening yet. Do you think we should send someone to get him?"

"I'll go. There's plenty of tea, so you don't need me here any longer. Did they take the horse into town this time?"

"I think so. Hai."

"Then I can get there faster than anyone else. I'll have him back as soon as possible. Ittekimasu. " Even as he spoke, he was rising and heading for the door. Her words followed him out: "Itterasshai!"

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

It had started raining right after he left, and he was a muddy mess by the time he reached the outskirts of Mitō, but he had still managed to make good time: lights were just now being lit in the businesses along the street. The men would've finished their business by now, and would be at one of the three establishments favored by the Ichimura villagers… Anxiety pushed at him- riding him and goading him on, but it wasn't until he reached the third that he finally found them. They had evidently been there a while, for Naota was already thoroughly drunk.

Kiyū and Ichita looked at him in hazy surprise, but Naota grinned widely and opened his arms in greeting, tipping sideways.

"Welcome! Sit down and drink with us!" His words were slurred, and his eyes had trouble focusing. Ichita swayed slightly when he waved for Kenshin to join them.

Kiyū reached out a hand automatically to keep Naota from falling over, as he observed Kenshin's filthy state and asked with mild interest, "What's happened?"

"I've come to get Naota. He's needed back at the village immediately."

Naota looked up upon hearing his name. "I have a son, you know?"

Kenshin regarded his friend in frustration. "Yes, I know. You need to come with me, right now." Looking back at Kiyū, the most sober of the three, he asked, "Where have you left the horse? I'm going to need him to get Naota back."

"It's at the smith's down the block. Should we come with you?" Kiyū began to rise unsteadily.

"Iie. I'll send someone back to the smith with the horse so you can bring home the supplies, and I'll tell Noriya-shoya that you'll be late. Stop drinking before you get in trouble. I'm going to get the horse; I'll be right back."

The rain had stopped. That was a small blessing. Once he collected the horse and got back, another small blessing was that Kiyū was steady enough to help him haul a nearly-unconscious Naota through the door and heave him across the animal's back. With a brief word of thanks, Kenshin picked up the lead and began the return journey, fretting at the amount of time that had elapsed.

He could not go as fast as he desired, either: Naota bounced and slid on the horse's back like a loosely packed bag of potatoes. But if Kenshin tried to jog alongside and steady him with a hand, the horse would stop when there was no longer a forward tug on the rope. A ri passed by with an agonizing lack of speed. Kenshin could only console himself with the thought that he was at least going faster than if he had had to try and carry Naota on his back, or wait until the man had sobered up.

They were still nearly two ri from the village when Naota began groaning and then vomited down the horse's side. Disoriented, he tried to push himself upright, and ended up in the mud, almost under the horse's hooves. He sat, head in hands, as Kenshin pulled the animal to the side and calmed its alarm.

With another groan, Naota leaned over and vomited again. Finally, he raised his head and looked around with enough sense to recognize both Kenshin and the fact that he was part way home. "Why are you here? Where's Kiyū and Ichita?"

"They're still in town. I came to get you because you need to be home: Nami-chan started bleeding after you were gone."

In the light of the full moon, Kenshin could see the stunned look on his friend's face. "Bleeding? What do you mean? O-Ine-san told me that somehow there were two babies. One was mizuko, but my son and Nami were fine! I saw her, and we talked!"

Kenshin crouched down, staring his friend in the face, willing him to understand: "It's true. When I left, Kin-chan was trying to stop the bleeding. I left some medicine for her to try, but we don't know if it will work. Get up, Naota! We need to _move_! Nami-chan may be dying right now; if we don't hurry, she may die before we get there! _Get up!_"

Despite his urging, Naota continued to sit, the disbelief on his face slowly changing to horror. He began to shake his head. "No. No. That can't be right. She was _fine_!"

Kenshin stood and, in the strength of his determination, yanked the larger man to his feet. "_We have to go! We have to get there!" _In his mind, the face he saw was no longer Nami's.

Naota continued to shake his head, avoiding Kenshin's eyes, and planting his feet firmly. "No. I can't go." Kenshin caught the gleam of tears in the moonlight. "How can I go? What will I do if she's dead? How can I watch her die?" A sob escaped.

Kenshin grabbed his friend's arms, and shook him, hard. "You _have_ to go back! If she dies, and you realize that you could have been there- that maybe you could have done _something_- you will _never_ forgive yourself."

Looking at him with fierce eyes, Naota spat out the words: "How would you know? How would you know the ties between a man and his wife?"

Frantic with desperation, all too aware of each minute wasted, Kenshin's control broke, and he shouted, "_Because I_ know_! My wife died in my arms, and_ _I could do _nothing!"


	17. Chapter 17 Tsuyu Pt 3

As always, I don't own Kenshin. He is the creation of Nobuhiro Watsuki.

I apologize in advance: this is only a piece of the planned update. It has been sitting in this basic form since before April. This has been a year of crises, one after the other, and I have not been able to finish it. However, I couldn't bring myself to go a whole year without even one update. I am fervently hoping that things will settle down in the next month or two (I KNOW that we are going to have to move before June 1st, so that will still be an impediment.), and I will be able to repost a completed reversion. After this segment is completed, there will only be 1-2 more sections to the Choushuu 'arc'.

Most of the vocabulary is stuff you've seen fairly often, so I'm not listing it.

I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas! Thanks for reading!

**Tsuyu Pt3**

**_22nd day, 5th month_**

"Naota is so mad, he won't even speak to her!" Nami stroked her baby's hair as he nestled close to her, and looked up briefly to make sure that Kin understood the importance of her statement. She was still very weak, and slept a lot, but even sequestered to the little room, she still knew what was going on! "I'd like to give her the silent treatment too, but she's my mother-in-law, and if I upset her now, she'll make my life miserable later. But it's our fault, too…we know what she's like, and Naota should have made sure she was gone before he said anything to me. But I was so scared and sick, and Naota was so upset about everything…we just didn't even think of it!"

Kin made a sympathetic noise. Nami-san's fierce words did not match her whispery voice, but she had a healthier color today and was much more alert. It had been so close! Every time she thought about it, she thanked the gods that Himura-san had been there. And what was his reward for saving Nami? Everyone in the village gossiping about him again! Just thinking about it, she felt her face flushing; she dipped her head to study the rags that had just been changed…and found her mind wandering once again. What must she have been like—Himura-san's wife? How long had she been dead? She gave her head a hard shake and refocused her attention.

"What is it? Is there a problem? I'm feeling stronger…" Nami's voice shook a little as she looked at the younger girl's stern expression.

Kin's head snapped up. "Iie, Nami-san. Everything seems to be fine. There's blood, of course, but no more than there should be. Is the baby nursing well?" Even as she asked the question as O-Ine-san had taught her, Kin thought how absurd it was for a girl, young and unmarried as she was, to be counseling her married senior. From now on, unless a problem occurred, she would just ask either Maruko-san or Honomi-san for updates.

She left as soon as she had looked over the baby, who seemed perfectly fine. As she went down the steps and crossed the road to O-Ine-san's house, she wondered once again about the other baby. Why had O-Ine-san sent her away before its birth? She would have never known anything if Naota hadn't said something about it, as though he assumed she knew…and those odd fragments of words mumbled by the old woman before she fell into her final silence. Nami seemed not to remember it…could her near-death have made her forget? Kin rubbed her forehead and tugged at her sidelocks: she didn't know _anything_!

"I'm too young for this!" Her voice sounded whiny, even to herself.

"Too young for what?"

That was her brother's voice…

Kin looked up and found Norikazu sitting on the edge of the engawa of O-Ine-san's house, swinging his feet, and looking at her with interest. "Too young for what?" he repeated.

"Never mind. Why are you here, Kazu-kun? Does someone need me at home?"

"Iie. I came with Tōsan. He wanted to look over the house and see if anything inside needs to be changed before the elders decide who will get it. "

She started up the steps; if she had been paying attention to her surroundings instead of lost in her thoughts, she would have noticed that panels had been slid aside to air the house out, and seen her father standing in the center of the room, studying the ceiling. The mingled scent of dozens of plants was comfortingly familiar, but the barren rafters made her feel strange. She flicked her brother's hair with a finger as she passed. What had her father done with all the herbs?

"Himura-san's here, too," her brother added. Kin paused. _Himura-san?_

He was off to one side, sitting at O-Ine-san's little table, surrounded by bundles of plants. As she watched, he dipped a brush in ink and carefully stroked out the excess against the side of the inkstone.

Kin smoothed her hair and went up the last two steps. Both of the men's heads turned as her shadow fell across the floor.

"Otōsan, what are you going to do with O-Ine-san's things? I'm going to need her medicines and the herbs." She gave a small bow in Himura-san's direction, but willed her eyes to stay on her father.

"She has no family, so we'll probably sell anything we can. There's not much, but the village always needs money and anything will help. As for the medicines, you can bring the bottles and jars home, but all those twigs and leaves? There's no way your mother will have those hanging all over the house. We can hang them in the storehouse."

"If you say so, Otōsan. But mightn't they make the grain taste odd? And it may be troublesome for you if I'm always asking for the key; I know you don't like to open the doors any more than you have to." A movement from Himura-san registered at the edge of her vision: he had set down the brush and was looking towards her father.

"Noriya-san, I can hang them in my house, and Norikazu-kun can come down to get whatever she needs. Perhaps that would be more convenient?" When they both turned to look at him, he held up one of the bunches and she saw that it had a strip of cloth tied around the stems, with 'ukogi' written on it. "I am putting the names on all the ones I know: I thought it might be helpful."

Remembering her frantic pleading at Nami's bedside, Kin felt herself grow pink with embarrassment, but hoped it was hidden as she bowed, "Dōmo arigatou gozaimasu, Himura-san. That will be _most_ helpful!" As she straightened, she looked towards her father to gauge his reaction to the idea. He frowned, obviously not happy with the idea. Her heart sank. Still, he said nothing—just rubbed his hand along his jaw as he stared into the space above Himura-san's head.

Finally, he nodded reluctantly and made a face. "Saaa! I can't think of anything better."

Raising his voice, he called, "Norikazu! Come in here!"

The scrabble of geta was heard and the young boy promptly appeared, his eyes alight with interest. "As soon as Himura-san is done here, help him carry those plants to his house. You can use one of the clean blankets to put them in. Bring it back, though. We'll sell it." Once he had given his instructions, he turned to his daughter. "I'm done here. Come home with me. You can come back later with a basket to put the medicines in."

Feeling young and awkward yet again, Kin hesitated a moment and then bowed hastily towards Himura-san before scurrying after her father.

**_26th day, 5th month_**

In the dim shop, Yasu held her sleeve to her nose and breathed shallowly; the combined scents of all the herbs made her want to sneeze or cough, or both. She shifted on the zabuton in an effort to ease the ache in her hip, a worry that she might wind up like O-Ine briefly rising before she shoved it aside. She had other things to worry about right now.

Noriya had been fretting about the young women ever since the ugliness with Motoshi and his daughter, and she had promised to watch Kin like a hawk while they were all in town.

Not that Noriya was unreasonable in his concern: Shinta—no, _Kenshin_—was enough to make any girl's heart flutter, with his unusual coloring and fine features, and his gentle manner…and now, his past as a warrior and tragic lover. She herself had loved him as a sweet child, and still worried over him, but the village girls—especially Kin!—came first.

The black head and the red were close together as they studied the leaves and blossoms and listened carefully to the apothecary's words as he identified the herbs that had been unfamiliar to them both. Kenshin had produced a tiny writing set from his obi and was taking notes. At this point, she could see nothing to be worried about. On their trip in, Kin had made no complaint at staying with her and Yui, as was proper, and letting Rishou and Kenshin lead the way. And now, even though they were so close together, they seemed totally concerned with their business. _Once we're done here_ …she shifted again. _How long is this going to take?_ _Much longer and I'll just stand up and start pacing!...Once we're done here, I'll leave Kin with Yui at the market while I take the cloth to the __han's offices._

When they had emptied the bag, Yasu got up, waiting for them to say their thanks so that they could leave. But instead, the apothecary began recommending other herbs for them to purchase, which began a whole new discussion. Shrugging, she wandered over to listen, and was pleased and proud at the intelligent questions that her granddaughter asked. Before she knew it, she found herself drawn into the conversation.

Finally, all the questions had been asked, the new herbs agreed on and the bill paid, and she and Kin emerged, blinking, into the bright sun and the fresh air. Kenshin followed, the bag once again on his back and his head and most of his face already covered with his kasa. As they stepped down into the street, Yasu touched Kin's arm to remind her to let Kenshin go ahead; he was wearing his katana for the first time in a long while, and it drew unwanted attention for two peasant women to be walking alongside a samurai as though they were equals. Kenshin stopped and turned his head partly back to them, but they could not see his expression—only his lips pressed into a straight line—and he said nothing. After the briefest of moments, he looked away and continued on with them trailing behind.

Kin, who had seldom been to Mitō, gazed in awe at the many buildings and the large number of people going about their business, and kept Yasu busy answering questions. About two streets away from the market area, Kenshin stopped. The two women looked at him curiously.

"I need to go down this road. Do you mind going the rest of the way alone, Baasama? Or would you rather I stay with you? My errand won't take very long, but I know that Yui-san has been waiting for you, and we spent longer at the apothecary's than you expected."

Yasu cocked her head and briefly considered. Kenshin was unfailingly polite, but after years of having to decide what men _really_ wanted when they said something, she had a definite feeling that he would rather do his errand now…and alone. She smiled and shook her head.

"Maa, maa. These streets are safe enough for people like us. Go do your business. I'll tell Rishou-kun that you'll come soon. Come along, Kin-chan." Hooking her arm through her granddaughter's, she made her way down the street without a backwards glance. _Let him have _some _privacy…_

Kenshin was as good as his word: the hour of the Snake had barely begun when he reappeared. Rishou, however, had been on tenterhooks for the last several minutes and practically leaped at him, grabbing his arm and then dropping it just as quickly as he realized that people around them were staring. Kneeling, Kenshin looked up at Rishou in mild surprise as he picked up the package that his friend's sudden pounce had knocked from his hand. Rishou rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"Gomen nasai, Himura-san." He bowed low in apology, out of fear of what the surrounding people might think; Kenshin himself wouldn't care. "I behaved poorly."

Kenshin pushed back the kasa slightly and glanced around before he stared hard at Rishou, eyes narrowed. He'd play along, if that was what Rishou wanted, his irritation with his friend's unease lending added sharpness to his tone as he rose to his feet.

"I'll let it pass. This time."

The bystanders-either relieved or disappointed at the lack of conflict—turned back to their own business. Once their eyes had turned away, Kenshin completely spoiled the effect by handing the package to Rishou and saying, "If everyone's steamed buns are smashed, it's your fault. There's enough for two for each of us." He paused to look around. "It looks like you've sold a fair amount. Are you ready to go?"

Rishou took his two buns, tucking one into his sash before passing the others on. "Arigatō. Aa, it's been a good morning; if it keeps going like it has, we won't have to stay till evening." He took a bite of his bun before continuing. "I'm ready."

Kenshin smiled at the others' thanks, but as they left the group and Rishou fell in a step behind him, his smile faded. It was hard to carry on any sort of friendly conversation in such a fashion. He turned around to argue, but before he could speak, Rishou shook his head and checked to see if anyone was near. "No. Not when you're carrying your katana. We agreed."

Kenshin matched his low tone to that of his friend. "This is ridiculous! Samurai talk to peasants and merchants all the time! And someone of my rank isn't likely to have a servant, let alone several. And _you_ asked me to wear the blade. "

Rishou bowed his head as though he were getting scolded. "They give orders to peasants and merchants; that's how they talk. And I've seen plenty of samurai that looked poorer than you, traveling with a servant. Whatever they do when they're alone, when I've seen them, they haven't acted like friends. I thought you didn't like to draw attention?"

Kenshin folded his lips in dissatisfaction and spun on his heel, continuing on to the blacksmith without another word. Most of what his friend said was true. The kiheitai had been a mixed group, but there had been distinctions. Even the ronin that he had encountered zealously guarded their pride of class, since it was the only thing of value that they had left.

So, when Rishou suggested he wait outside the blacksmith's while his friend went in to buy a few new scythes, he made no comment, but just sat down on a bench nearby and pulled out the news-paper he had just purchased. There had been heavy fighting at Ueno, outside of Edo, but it had finally been exterminated. The main focus of the resistance was moving north…

"I was able to get them all." Rishou stopped in front of him with a faint, metallic 'clunk' from the furoshiki on his back. "There's something else I'd like to do before we go back to the others. Will you come with me?"

Kenshin nodded and rose to his feet, folding the paper and tucking it into his sash.

"Where are we going?"

"To the temple. I have someone I want you to meet, and that's the best place to do it."

Kenshin's curiosity was piqued, but Rishou set off at brisk pace, making no effort to say anything more. Kenshin trailed behind in mild bemusement at his friend's odd behavior. They paused only once on their way, slowing just a bit as Rishou commented about the busy-ness of an eating establishment that they passed.

Kenshin had not been to the temple since the day he had asked the abbot for help. Through the heavy air, it seemed as though the sun and the white gravel of the grounds had leached some of the color out of the buildings and vegetation. They found a bench in the welcome shade of a pine, and Rishou urged him to sit.

"Just wait here, and I'll be back very soon!"

Rishou did not wait for any response, but turned and hurried away as Kenshin sat, curious. The light breeze of the morning had died, and the still heat radiating in waves from the white gravel reminded him of summers in Kyoto. He wondered if Kido-Sensei's health had improved, if his trip to Nagasaki had gone as hoped.

The grounds were quiet; no one was around. Kenshin removed the kasa, fanning himself idly as he waited. He could hear the faint murmur of a chant from the temple and wondered if it might be the abbot…

The shadow of the tree's branches had barely moved when he heard the crunch of sandals on gravel, moving quickly. The kasa went back on his head, but it was Rishou, striding along with a young woman next to him, scurrying to keep up. After the first surprise, Kenshin realized that this must be the young woman for whom Rishou was willing to risk his father's anger.

He studied her as they approached. She looked older than he had expected; for her to be willing to give up the occasional comforts of town life for the hard life of a peasant, he had thought she must be a very young woman. She was no beauty, but had a pleasant face—and a lovely smile, once she had caught her breath. He found himself smiling back, understanding what had probably first attracted Rishou.

"Himura-san, this is Hana-san. You've heard me speak of her."

The young woman bowed low gracefully. "I am Hana. My father is Taro-san. Dōzo yorushiko onegaishimasu."

Kenshin bowed back, catching a trace of surprise as it flitted across her face. "I am Himura. Hajimemashite."

"I wanted you to at least meet Hana-san, but she can't stay. I've pulled her away from the shop at a busy time, and she has to get back." Rishou said apologetically. Hana looked at him as he spoke, both flustered and grateful. She turned back to Kenshin:

"Gomen nasai, Himura-san. I am embarrassed to be so impolite…"


End file.
